THE BUSINESS OF SAVING SOULS
by jasmine105
Summary: Ongoing story of Horatio and Lauren Chambers, as well as a look at Frank Tripp's life. The story's backdrop is a scandal and crime involving a mega church and its charismatic leaders. Other familiar characters involved in the story are Kyle Harmon, Alexx Woods and Julia Eberly Winston Saris . Hope you enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One - Troubled Souls

It had been raining relentlessly for the better part of the day, and the dreariness of the gray skies above was a good match for the dark mood that had settled over Frank Tripp for the past few days. It was mid-afternoon on Friday, and Frank had knocked off work several hours early to attend to personal matters. Traffic was especially heavy and slow due to the rain, and it took him longer than he had anticipated to make the trip to the Towering Palms Residential Complex where his mother lived. With a sense of relief, Frank finally turned into the parking lot of the senior citizens complex, found an open space and quickly pulled into it. As he did so, his attention was caught by a large, fancifully painted bus parked near the entrance of the complex.

The bus had been painted pale blue and featured wispy, creamy white clouds in an attempt to conjure up images of heaven. On the side of the bus, superimposed over the clouds and the blue background, were images of Pastor Bobby Braxton and his wife, "Sister" Lee-Anne Braxton. In large gold script were the words **The Harvest Souls Congregation - Every Sixty Seconds, Somewhere in the World, a Soul is Saved - Thanks to You!**

_More like every sixty seconds a sucker is born_, thought Frank with contempt. He watched as several young men and women exited the electronic doors of the complex and headed for the bus. Wondering how the conservatively and well-dressed young people entered the protected building without an electronic pass key, Frank frowned. Solicitation was not allowed inside the complex or on its grounds. _Probably let inside by some naive, trusting old soul_, he suspected. Perhaps he should have a conversation with the Palms' management office; it made him uneasy to think that his mother and other trusting, elderly citizens might be subjected to financial chicanery masquerading as religion. He had caught the Braxtons in action once or twice on television when surfing channels, and found their mix of prosperity gospel and pleas for 'love' offerings more than just a little distasteful. To Frank, they were two very good flim-flam artists who took advantage of the sorrows, ill-health and naiveté of those least able to defend themselves. Lee-Anne Braxton called herself a prophetess, and would often call forth "healings" over the airwaves, saying she "saw" this or that sick person - and generally there were enough sick people watching the show that someone was bound to claim that "Sister" healed them. It filled Frank with disgust. Making up his mind to speak with management about the matter, Frank put thoughts of it aside for the moment.

He had a bag of groceries sitting on the passenger's seat of his car as well as a small bunch of pink and white carnations for his mother. He knew the flowers would bring a smile to Olive Tripp's face. Frank's dad had run a small grocery store in Sweeny, Texas when Frank was a kid. When his dad would get a shipment of flowers in, he would bring a bunch home to his wife. His parents were not demonstrative people, but Frank never failed to notice how his mother would beam with pleasure at the flowery evidence of her husband's affection. On occasion, Frank liked continuing the practice; it was a small thing, and it gave his mother happiness.

About to open the car door and take his chances in the persistent downpour, Frank paused as his cell phone buzzed. Pulling it from his suit coat pocket, he muttered a soft curse under his breath when he saw the caller was his ex-wife.

"Yeah, Melissa, what's up? The girls okay?"

Annoyed by his lack of greeting and the irritation she sensed beneath his carefully neutral tone, she coolly replied with sarcasm, "Why, hello to you too, Frank. So nice to talk to you!"

Frank could feel the heat growing within him, but said nothing. He and Melissa were old pros at effortlessly aggravating one another.

Ignoring her ex-husband's silence, Melissa continued. "Since you asked so nicely, the girls are fine. Sherry is all a flutter with plans for her prom night, Melanie is making me crazy about wanting to learn to drive... and Carrie had a major temper tantrum last night and is threatening to leave home and move in with you! Sometimes, I think it wouldn't be such a bad idea!"

Thinking of ten year old Carrie, a grin worked its way across Frank's face and softened his expression. Frank loved all his girls, but he and Carrie shared a special bond. Unlike her older, more docile and anxious-to-please sisters, Carrie was a handful. She and Melissa often locked horns, and they were miles apart in temperament. The truth was, Carrie was more like him. She was stubborn, had a mouth on her, and didn't suffer fools gladly - the last category being the one Frank inwardly suspected Carrie put her mother in. He realized Carrie was strong-willed and needed to be taken in hand, but she was his baby, and while she gave Melissa a rough time, she still looked at her father as if he could slay dragons.

Unlike the older girls, Carrie had been too young to remember the good times in the Tripp household. And early in the marriage, there had been good times. But things began to change when Frank's work had begun to require of him longer hours. Bitter arguments began to surface about the lack of Frank's presence in the home, and at times Melissa accused him of wanting to work the extra hours to escape his responsibilities as a husband and a father. The accusations and the arguments began to eat away at the marriage, and after awhile, Frank did start volunteering for the extra hours rather than go home to the increasingly shrill Melissa, who had begun to rely too heavily on several glasses of wine to get through the day. The end came when Frank discovered that his wife had paid a detective agency to lure him into an affair with a woman hired expressly for that purpose. He had been terribly hurt and had felt betrayed, and Melissa's paranoia had been responsible for some uncomfortable moments when Frank became a suspect in a murder investigation as a result of her actions. More than anything, that nasty little piece of work by Melissa signaled to Frank just how little trust and love remained in their relationship.

Frank realized he couldn't continue to live with Melissa afterward, in spite of her apologies and tearful entreaties. On the positive side, his departure from the home had been the impetus for Melissa to give up alcohol, and Frank had never seen any evidence that she had gone back on that decision.

He was relieved when they parted and felt he'd done the right thing. Better to end the marriage than listen daily to the false accusations, the complaints and the tears. Still, Frank felt a lot of guilt about the way things ended, his girls being juggled from their mother's house to his apartment, and especially the impact it had upon Carrie, who had only been four at the time of their split.

"Frank, are you still there?" Melissa asked.

"Yeah, I'm here. Look, Melissa, if the girls are okay, what's up?" Idly, he allowed his eyes to drift once again to where the Braxtons' bus was parked. He watched as one of the young women, partially obscured by the big black umbrella she protectively hovered underneath, disengaged from the rest of the group who were all trying to board the bus. Instead, she decisively walked over to a car where an elderly gentleman was attempting to open the door against the wind and rain. She grasped the door handle, opened it, and helped the man out, and handed him the umbrella to hold while she extracted his cane from the car and then handed it to him. She took back the umbrella, offered him an arm to lean on, and slowly walked with him to the doors of the complex. She continued to talk intently with him as he used his pass key to open the electronic door. As he started to enter the building, she handed him a small, white plastic bag with something imprinted on it, smiled and waved goodbye to him. After he entered the building, she quickly sprinted back to where the bus was and got on. Frank watched as the doors closed behind her and the bus began to slowly leave the complex. _Now what the hell was that all about? _he wondered.

Dimly, Frank realized his ex-wife's voice was becoming increasingly petulant. "...Frank, this is the second time in six months that you've been late with the check."

Abruptly forcing his attention back to what Melissa was saying, he began to deal with the unpleasant reason for her call. "Melissa, you know I'm never late with the child support checks... "

Melissa interrupted. "I'm talking about the alimony check, and you know it! I need that money, Frank. I have bills to pay. When you're late with the alimony, I'm late paying my bills... and then they start calling the house. Is that what you want? Bill collectors calling, and the girls answering the phone?"

Stung, Frank replied angrily, "Of course not - and neither should you! Look, Melissa, you were married to a cop, not a Rockefeller! I make damn sure my obligations to my girls are met, and I do it on time every month, and you know it. The alimony... well, there are months when I have trouble getting it together. You know, you could lend a hand - you could get a job."

"We've been through this before, Frank," she said irritably. "I need to be there for the girls. God knows you aren't there! It's important that at least one parent be available."

Frank laughed without humor. "You have a teaching degree, and the girls are in school during the day. There is no reason you can't go back to teaching, and still be there when the girls are at home. Maybe the courts would see it that way now that the girls are older. I just can't do it all."

"Perhaps you should have thought of that when you left us, Frank," Melissa replied softly.

Suddenly Frank was overcome with a sense of futility and weariness. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest, he was silent for a moment, listening to the rain beating against the windshield. No one could work him over like Melissa. She knew just the right buttons to push to make him feel like a bum. "Let's not do this, Melissa," he said tiredly. "I get paid next Thursday. I'll get the check to you."

After concluding the call, Frank remained seated in the car, eyes closed, for several minutes, trying to remember back to the days when every conversation with Melissa didn't deteriorate into harsh words of recrimination, followed by bitterness and guilt - but the truth was, he couldn't. It had been too long.

XXXXX

"Ma," said Frank, sitting down his coffee on Olive Tripp's kitchen table and picking up a small plastic bag, "what is this?"

Olive finished putting the pink and white carnations in the small vase, and walked over to the table, placing the flowers in the center of it. Glancing over at the bag that was the focus of Frank's attention, she sat down across from him and blew on her hot coffee before answering.

"A lovely young woman came by earlier today and left the bag with me. There is a DVD inside as well as some literature about her church. I haven't watched the DVD yet, but I may attend the Bible study they are going to be starting here. It will meet every Tuesday morning."

Sighing, Frank opened up the bag and saw a DVD with the Braxtons' faces imprinted on it. There were several pamphlets inside, as well as several pledge envelopes. "They give you anything else, Ma?"

He could see his mother was uncomfortable as she reluctantly responded. "Well, that Bible over there," she said, pointing over toward the kitchen counter, near the refrigerator, "and the Study Guide and Journal that goes with it."

Frank walked over to the counter and picked up the Bible. On the front of the cream colored, faux leather cover in gold lettering was imprinted **THE HARVEST SOULS CONGREGATION LIFE APPLICATION BIBLE**. In the same fake leather binding was the combination study guide and journal bearing the title **THE HARVEST SOULS CONGREGATION STUDY GUIDE AND JOURNAL FOR LABORERS**. In smaller lettering was a bible verse: _**"The harvest is plentiful but the laborers few... "**_

"Did they give this to you, Ma, or did you pay for it?"

Olive Tripp looked at her son with a guilty expression on her face. "Now, Frankie, I can see you're upset, but calm down. It wasn't much... it was only $25.00 and, look, for that you received both books. And they are in leather! This is an heirloom, Frankie, a Bible I can hand down to one of your girls one day."

_God forbid_, thought Frank, not missing the irony of his thought.

"Ma," said Frank patiently, "you already have a Bible. Why would you spend $25.00 for another? Did you tell the girl that you already had one?" Frank was wondering how much pressure the girl had put on his mother.

"I did tell Liz I already had a Bible... but this is different, this is a life application Bible in which the Church points out how each verse can help us in our daily life to reach out and bring more souls into the Church. Liz says that we are all here for a purpose, Frankie: we are to reach out to our friends and family, and to all the poor people all over the world who don't know the truth. Liz says this Bible, edited by the Harvest Souls church teaches us about our purpose, and the study guide helps us figure out how to fulfill it, and we're supposed to write down our thoughts and ideas. Liz says that it doesn't matter how old we are; we all have a role to play in bringing lost souls into the Kingdom. Liz said that someone like me can play a big role in making this happen."

_Liz says, Liz says, Liz says_, thought Frank sourly as he listened to his mother's litany of what Liz said. "Did you get Liz's last name, by any chance?"

"Yes, it is written on the inside of the study guide, along with her telephone number. She said I can call her anytime I want to talk... if I have a question or just want to chat about anything. Isn't that dear of her? So many people don't have time for older folks today. Lovely girl."

Frank looked at the name written inside of the study guide: **LIZ McKINLEY**. Frank took out his pad and wrote down her name and phone number. He might just ring the "lovely girl" up and have a little talk with her... and not about saving souls.

XXXXX

Exiting the doors of the seniors complex, Frank looked up at the slowly clearing skies. _At least the rain is over_, he thought. _Humidity is still a bitch though_.

Walking toward his car, his attention was diverted by a pretty sight. He found himself studying a young woman who had her back to him as she struggled to pull a heavy oriental rug from one of the complex's carts and push it into the trunk of her silver Hyundai. The old, dusty car had certainly seen better days, but the same could not be said for the lady. _Damn, if that woman looks as good from the front as she does from behind, she's a knockout_, he thought, quashing the all too male instinct to whistle his appreciation. Instead, Frank chose to silently admire the woman's tanned legs in white shorts, the nicely defined ass, and the way her pretty back and shoulders looked in the yellow tee-shirt she was wearing. He couldn't see her face, but noticed the crop of black, curly hair that barely touched her shoulders.

He watched her struggle for a few seconds, and then decided to offer his help. Walking toward her, he coughed to get her attention. "Ma'am, I couldn't help noticing that you are having trouble getting that rug into the trunk of your car. Can I help?"

The woman turned and looked up at Frank, her sea-green eyes wary and alert, and studying him intently. She had a heart shaped face, a pert, upturned nose, full lips and a slight cleft in the center of her chin. Frank thought she was just about the prettiest thing he'd seen in some time. He noticed the woman was looking him over nervously, and seemed hesitant about whether to accept his help.

"Miss, just trying to help," he said quietly. "That rug seems too much for you to handle on your own... but if you would rather I left you alone, just say the word and I won't bother you."

She seemed to come to a decision, and finally held out her hand. In friendly fashion, she smiled at him and said, "My name is Lucy Price. Thanks for the offer to assist - I sure can use some help!"

Frank returned her smile and shook her hand. "My name is Frank Tripp. So," he said, gesturing around the complex, "you got parents here?"

Lucy shook her head, smiling. "No, my parents live in Orlando. My uncle lived here. He was quite elderly and he passed away. He had no children, and cleaning out his apartment and taking care of his personal effects fell to me. I have been doing pretty well - until I got to this heavy rug. How about you? You have parents here?"

"Yeah, my mother. She's lived here about 10 years now... likes it. I tried to get her to move in with me when I was married, but she wanted her own place. Same thing with my brother in Texas. At least once a year, he tries to talk her into going back to Texas, but she likes Miami... she likes being close to her granddaughters."

"Well, Towering Palms is a rather nice apartment complex," remarked Lucy, tilting her head to the side as she looked at Frank and processed what he had just shared with her about his life. Divorced or separated, and children. "So, Mr. Tripp, I thought I detected a bit of an accent... you're from Texas?"

"I grew up in a small town in Southeast Texas - Sweeny. Moved to Miami about twenty-five years ago when I got a job offer. After my dad died, I asked my mother to move to Miami. My girls are the only grandchildren she has; she was happy to move here and be near them.

"By the way," he said, feeling a bit awkward in front of the pretty woman, "I sure would like to call you 'Lucy' - so how about you drop the 'Mr. Tripp' stuff, and call me 'Frank.'" Frank was rapidly doing mental arithmetic in his head, trying to figure out how old Lucy Price was. She had the face and figure of a young woman, but he saw evidence of some very fine lines around her eyes - and there was also a look in the depths of those green eyes that hinted at something experienced and older than first glance would seem to indicate. And in spite of the smiles and friendly conversation, Frank sensed an underlying sadness and tension that reached out to something protective within him.

"You said your family is from Orlando - so how did you wind up in Miami?" he asked.

Lucy hesitated, and then reluctantly offered, "After my marriage broke up, I decided a change was needed... and I decided to move farther south."

"Hmm... well, I can understand needing a change after a marriage falls apart. Get back to Orlando much?"

"No," she said fiercely, "I never go back. Orlando is a closed chapter in my life."

Puzzled, Frank began, "But your parents... don't you go back to see them?"

"No. Not ever." Lucy looked upset, and began to focus on trying to move the rug again.

"Here," Frank said kindly, "let me do that." Frank hauled the carpet out of the cart, and placed it in the trunk.

Lucy smiled gratefully at the tall man with the kind manner. She instinctively liked him, and Lucy was a woman who had learned the hard way to pay close attention to her instincts; past experience had taught her it was dangerous to do otherwise. "Thanks, Frank," she said softly.

He smiled back at her. Frank was trying desperately to come up with a way of asking her out. "My pleasure, Miss Lucy. Can I return that cart for you?"

"Thanks, that would be great," she replied.

Frank was about to return the cart to its bay on the side of the complex when he decided the humidity was starting to get to him. Not thinking, he slipped out of his jacket and laid it on top of the now empty cart. Suddenly, he heard a swift intake of breath from the pretty woman standing next to him. Turning to look at her, he found her mesmerized by the holstered gun that had been hidden beneath his suit jacket.

"Lucy?" he asked, puzzled at the fixed stare she was giving him.

"You... you carry a gun?" she asked weakly.

"It's not what you think, Lucy. I'm a cop. See?" he said, holding out his badge as verification of his statement.

"Oh dear God," she said softly, "you're a cop. A cop!"

Seeing how upset she was, he said, tentatively, "Lucy? Lucy, what's wrong?"

Abruptly, Lucy seemed to give herself a mental shake and regained her composure. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all. Thank you for your trouble, Mr. Tripp," she said formally. "I really must be going now. I appreciate the help you provided. I really have to go now. Goodbye."

Frank watched with stupefaction as Lucy's formerly friendly manner disappeared and was replaced with icy formality and an urgency to be gone from his presence. He was too perplexed to try to detain her and stared as she got into her car and quickly drove away.

_Now what in hell just happened here?_ he wondered. _A cop hater?_ _Damn! _Frank had come in contact before with women who hated cops, but he wouldn't have figured Lucy Price for one of them.

Again, Frank thought, _Damn! She was sure a fine woman to look at. Just my luck... a cop hater._

Dispirited, Frank returned the cart to the complex, and then walked back to his car. Another Friday night - a weekend approaching and no one to share it with. _A cop hater! _he thought once more. _Damn my luck!  
_  
TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two - Chance Encounters

_Much later, across town at Miami International Airport...  
_  
Horatio looked at the overhead monitor of incoming flights and was relieved to see Lauren's flight from Baltimore was still on time for arrival at 7:55 p.m. It had been a miserable day in Miami, with heavy periods of rain and wind. There had been a brief respite of sunshine late in the afternoon, but then the clouds and rain moved back in, accompanied by bouts of thunder and lightning. He had been certain the plane would be delayed due to the storms, but apparently the weather hadn't impacted its schedule. Knowing what a white-knuckled flyer Lauren was under the best of circumstances, he could only imagine how nervous she must be if the plane was bouncing around in thunder storms.

Banishing the uneasy thought from his mind since there was nothing he could do until she was safely back on the ground, he began to look around the baggage terminal where he had arranged to meet Lauren and help retrieve her luggage. As always, Miami's busy airport was bustling, and the baggage terminal was filled with a mass of people waiting to pull their revolving luggage off the conveyor equipment.

Within the sea of people, Horatio took notice of a very young woman holding the hand of a small child and tearfully greeting a young man in a soldier's uniform. Horatio smiled as he watched them. The child, an excited little girl, was jumping up and down, trying anxiously to capture the soldier's attention, but the young man was soundly kissing the tearful woman whom Horatio assumed was his wife. Finally, the soldier leaned down to kiss the wriggling child and a big happy grin creased his sunburned face. Scooping the squealing little girl up into his arms, his bright, dancing eyes caught Horatio's for a brief moment, and Horatio nodded at him, smiling and enjoying the young man's happiness.

The young soldier's family reunion turned Horatio's thoughts toward his son, Kyle. The truth was that his son was never very far from Horatio's thoughts at any time, and he suspected that would continue as long as Kyle was in Afghanistan and in harm's way. Not for the first time, Horatio found himself wondering how many more months would pass before he saw him again. It had been almost a year since he had last seen his boy, and Horatio felt the absence keenly. He had missed so much of Kyle's life... he didn't want to miss any more of it. Sometimes it seemed to Horatio that his own life was passing by too quickly, and he wanted to stop the clock and hold those he cared about closer to him. He didn't much care for this heightened awareness of the passage of time; since he had become seriously involved with Lauren, it had often seemed to lurk in the back of his mind, sometimes clouding his present day happiness. Mentally shaking away the melancholy direction his thoughts were threatening to take, he allowed himself to contemplate what Kyle's future might hold.

Horatio earnestly hoped that Kyle would not choose a military career. His tour of duty would be ending in a few months, and he would soon be making the decision whether to re-enlist. He hadn't asked Horatio's opinions on the matter, and Horatio hadn't offered any. He admitted to himself that being in the service had deepened Kyle's sense of responsibility and commitment, and he was proud of him. Still, he wanted Kyle back home. Selfishly or not, Horatio wanted to get to know the man his son was becoming - and he also wanted him out of that very dangerous region of the world. But Kyle was not a child any longer; his son was a man, and he had to respect that and allow Kyle to find his own way. Given the tough breaks he had received in his youth, his son had since seemed to have turned a corner and was doing remarkably well; Horatio was learning to trust the young man's judgment.

He suspected that Kyle knew he was concerned about his future plans, and that may be one of the reasons that Kyle had made arrangements to Skype with Horatio on the coming Sunday. Horatio had decided he would allow Kyle to lead the conversation, however, he couldn't help but hope that the young man would tell him he would be coming home at the end of this tour. Mindful of the homecoming he had just witnessed, Horatio realized that when he could stand in this same spot and welcome his son home, it would be one of the happiest days of his life.

Horatio glanced again at the overhead monitor, and saw that Lauren's plane had landed. She would soon be disembarking and heading down to the baggage terminal. After an absence of nearly three weeks, Horatio was anxious to see her. The debacle with the Mayor's family and the Mayor's resulting retirement from public life had left Lauren without a job in Miami. Horatio had been relieved when she decided to go home for a visit during the murder investigation that had reached into the Mayor's office; at the time, he hadn't known which way the investigation was going to go, and it had eased his mind to have her out of harm's way. What surprised and worried Horatio was that he hadn't expected her to stay away so long; a visit of several days had turned into weeks, and Horatio worried what that protracted absence might mean.

"Mister?" asked a kind, inquiring voice, interrupting his thoughts.

Horatio turned and saw a tall, pleasant-looking woman studying him with an expression of concern on her face. "Excuse me, but for a few moments you appeared so deep in thought... and rather troubled. ...Would you let me help you, please?"

"Excuse me?" asked Horatio with some astonishment as well as a touch of irritation.

"I'm sorry," she replied with sincerity, "I know I must seem intrusive to you. But for a moment, there was a look of such worry and trouble on your face that… well, God spoke to my heart and told me I should approach you and tell you that you're not alone."

Horatio gazed intently at the woman who just told him that God was _speaking_ to her. She appeared to be in her early forties, possessed a plain, honest face, and was dressed conservatively in a knee-length, flowered skirt, a white short-sleeved blouse, and low-heeled sandals. Her thick, lovely brown hair was pulled off her forehead and secured in a black barrette, and swept her shoulders in soft waves. Everything about her appearance and demeanor suggested a pleasant, serious and no-nonsense woman... which made it all the more surprising to Horatio that she was standing before him telling him that God _told _her to approach him.

"You see," she continued, "I have been just where you are right now."

Against his better judgment, Horatio asked, "And where exactly would that be, ma'am?"

"In a sad, lonely, worried place; a place where the concerns of life seem poised to overwhelm and where answers seem out of reach.

"But, Mister, you don't have to stay in that place. And you are not alone. There are people who care and who are willing to pray for you, who care about the welfare of your soul." The woman opened the purse she was carrying and withdrew a pamphlet from it. Handing the pamphlet to Horatio, she said to him, "When I was in a sad place, these people took me into their hearts and welcomed me. They prayed for me and they cared about me. And they can do the same for you."

Horatio glanced at the pamphlet and saw that the front of the tract was stamped **THE HARVEST SOULS CONGREGATION**. He was only vaguely aware of the religious organization, mainly due to the numerous billboards throughout the city advertising both the church and the television show associated with it. Horatio frowned at the front of the pamphlet which featured a photo of a woman clad in a long white robe shot through with golden threads. Her long golden hair lay about her shoulders, and her hands were clasped before her and raised upward, while her head was thrown back, eyes closed. The expression on her face, a disquieting mixture of piety and ecstasy, both offended Horatio and made him uncomfortable. Printed beneath the photo of the woman were the words: _**SISTER LEE-ANNE HAS BEEN ANOINTED TO PRAY FOR YOU!**_

Attempting to return the pamphlet to the stranger standing before him, Horatio said, "Thank you, but no."

The woman searched his eyes and, with well-practiced avoidance, smoothly ignored Horatio's attempt to return the pamphlet, explaining, "Sir, I am here waiting for my husband and son to return from an appointment at Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. Two years ago, my son was diagnosed with a degenerative muscle condition, one which has no cure at present. He was in such pain, and losing his strength rapidly."

Horatio listened as the woman continued to tell her story, but was challenged to figure out what it had to do with him.

"We were at our wits' end, getting second, third, fourth opinions from doctors - all to no avail. They all said the same thing and took away any hopes we had that he might recover. We watched as our son grew progressively weaker, experienced chronic pain, and became steadily more despondent. We were frightened and broken-hearted... and felt there was no place to turn... no one to turn to...

"And then by chance, on a night when my soul was at its lowest point, I happened to catch the Braxtons on television. But I no longer believe in chance, Mister. I think the Spirit was leading me to watch that night because as Mrs. Braxton was praying for members of the audience, she had a word from God that was specifically for us! I will never forget it!" she excitedly recounted. "Sister Lee-Anne seemed to be looking directly through the television camera at _me _as she said that there was a husband and wife who were in deep distress over the illness of their son and who had lost all hope for his recovery. She began to pray for us and said we mustn't let our hearts be troubled, that God was feeling our pain and that our prayers had been heard, and if we would only claim the healing, our son would be made whole."

Horatio wasn't sure what to make of this story; he was not a fan of televangelists and their claims of healing. His face must have displayed the skepticism he was feeling because the woman smiled sheepishly.

"Yes, yes... I know what you must be thinking: a desperate parent, susceptible to superstition, wanting to believe in miracles... but, Sir, I _claimed _that healing for my son... and immediately, things began to improve for us. The degeneration of my son's muscles dramatically slowed. He had been in a wheel chair, and now he is walking with a cane! How do you explain that? The doctors can't explain it. They tell us this is a momentary aberration and not to get our hopes up, saying that hope for a cure is unrealistic. But they have no faith. With faith, all things are possible!"

The scientist in Horatio wanted to tell the woman that most likely her son was in some sort of temporary remission; people with degenerative diseases were seldom, if ever, cured. Looking at her face, however, he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. He could see that she was sincere, and it was not his place to take away any comfort she may derive from her beliefs.

"I am telling you this story," she confessed, "to illustrate that there is no trouble that you might have that has to be borne alone. There is no pain so deep that it cannot be healed. And, Mister, there is an entire community of people willing to help you, pray for you, support you. Please keep the pamphlet; you may wish to look us up some day.

"Oh, look! There's my husband and son!" The woman looked toward them, and then turned back to Horatio with a smile, exuding a zealotry that made him acutely uncomfortable. "I will pray for you! God bless!"

Horatio looked at her quizzically as she quickly turned away to greet her family. He glanced at her son, walking awkwardly and slowly with a cane, and inwardly wished the young man well... but wondered what his long term prospects might be. He was about to find a trash receptacle in which to toss the pamphlet, but was distracted by the sight of Lauren heading his way. Quickly shoving the pamphlet inside his coat pocket, he watched with pleasure as she headed in his direction, still having not yet seen him.

She looked pale and tired to Horatio, yet when she finally caught sight of him her eyes lit up and her mouth curved into a tender smile.

Approaching him, she said, "Excuse me, Sir, but I think I'm supposed to meet my ride here... you haven't seen him, by any chance?"

Smiling, he replied, "Hmm... well, I'm not sure. What does he look like?"

"Oh, let's see," she began. "He is tall... and slim... has red hair... oh, yes, I almost forgot to mention that he has the most wonderful blue eyes. Yes, very memorable blue eyes."

Casually sliding his hands into his pockets and shrugging his shoulders insouciantly, he replied, "Nope... haven't seen anyone around here who matches that description. But, if you don't mind my asking, just what makes this character's eyes so...ah... memorable?"

"Well," she whispered, leaning in toward him confidentially, "he has bedroom eyes... the sort of eyes that make a girl think of soft words, soft lights... and even softer beds!"

She laughed lightly as she watched her red-headed lover blush at the sweet suggestiveness of her words. Lovingly, she reached out to gently caress his cheek. "Hey, you," she said softly, "you certainly are a sight for sore eyes."

Horatio grinned and leaned forward, quickly kissing her expectant lips. "So, lovely lady, can I interest you in a ride home?"

"There is nothing I'd like better. Oh, Horatio, I am so tired! What a terrible flight that was!"

"Tell you what," he said, "let's get you home. You can shower, get into some comfortable clothes, and I'll pour you a glass of wine and pull together something quick for dinner. You look beat."

"That sounds wonderful."

Studying her intently and noting her paleness again, he replied, "Okay, then. We'll make an early night of it; you look like you need some sleep."

Lifting her brows suggestively, she teased, "But not too early to sleep, hmm?"

"No," he agreed with a grin, "not too early to sleep."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three - Sunday Morning Revelations

_6:00 a.m. - Lucy Price's apartment...  
_  
Lucy Price slowly rubbed a hand across her tired, closed eyes as she lay in bed. Throughout what seemed to be a dark, endless night, she had endured several fitful hours of half sleep punctuated by periods of sudden, jarring wakefulness. Physically and emotionally, she was exhausted, and her heavy, leaden limbs refused to muster the strength to rise from the bed even though Lucy knew she must. Her employers wouldn't understand if she didn't show up today; Sundays were considered part of her job, and it was a job she desperately needed to hold on to.

Gathering her resolve, she wearily rose from the bed and woodenly walked into the bathroom. _Who is that frightened-looking woman staring back at me? _Lucy wondered, looking into the mirror above the sink, and noting the defeated look in her eyes. It was an old, familiar look that she had hoped to put behind her forever. She ran the cold water and soaked a wash rag under the column of rushing liquid; folding the rag into a compress of sorts, she pressed it to her puffy eyes, hoping its cool moisture would diminish the dark circles that told the tale of a restless night.

Suddenly, Lucy's phone rang, causing her to jump with anxiety. Wrenching the compress from her eyes, she walked unsteadily into her bedroom and stared frozenly at the phone on the nightstand, refusing to answer it. _It has to be him! Who else would call at this hour of the morning_, she thought with horror.

The phone continued to ring loudly and eerily in the silence of her room, and Lucy stood quietly, holding her breath, as though that might keep her safe. Finally, the answering machine flipped on, and Lucy listened as a computerized voice instructed the caller to leave a message. When the caller started speaking, she felt herself grow cold and she began to shake in spite of her resolve to stay calm.

"Lucy, pick up the phone, babe. I know you're there... did you get my message last night? Come on, Luce, I want to talk with you, babe. Your mamma gave me your number... Come on, Luce! Pick up the phone!"

She listened as the warm, once well-loved voice wheedled and cajoled her to answer. Still, she stood there quietly, doing nothing, hardly daring to exhale.

"Okay," continued the voice, heavy with a warm, almost molasses quality, "I guess you're ignoring me. Babe, I just want to talk to you. I want to make things right. That's all.

"Luce, I've changed. Your mamma understands that; it's why she gave me your number. ...I am getting help now. I understand things better."

Lucy's hands began to convulsively wring the wash rag she was still grasping. _Good God!_ she thought, panic-stricken, _Would this never end?_

She heard the caller sigh with regret. "Luce, you know how I hate these games. Please don't play games with me. I love you, babe, you know that."

The connection went dead as the caller hung up. And still Lucy stood there, staring at the phone, as transfixed by the sight of it as she would have been had it been a snake coiled upon her nightstand. After several moments, she walked over to the answering machine next to the phone and, without listening again to the message, hit the delete key.

Slowly, she sat down on the bed, trying to dam up the terrible memories that threatened to come crashing in and engulf her. Things had been going so well over the past two years. She was finally beginning to feel things again and to react to them as a normal person might. She was experiencing once more the feeling of blessed freedom, the sense that everyday people had of being in charge of their own destinies. After all those dead years of trying to appear invisible, she was allowing herself to be seen and heard again without fear. Finally, it had begun to seem as if those years of shrinking into the corners of any room she entered, always cautiously mindful of the need to be silently and agreeably acquiescent, had come to an end; no longer need she hide in the background, a silent and cowed ghost, forced to cater to the desires of a stronger, bullying personality.

And then, last night... she had arrived home late and there was a message on her machine from a voice from her past... a voice she had hoped never to hear again... and it was as if none of the progress she had made over the past two years had ever occurred. Once again she was the sad, pathetic, frightened Lucy Price, the woman whose self-esteem had been shattered by her angry, controlling husband.

_Mamma, how could you!_ she thought angrily. _How could you let him have my number? Have you forgotten? Has he charmed you yet again?_

She recalled how her mother and father, like so many others who never experienced his rages, had always been so taken with Jerry. Around them, he was self-effacing, respectful, always interested in what they had to say. They chose to accept him at face value, willfully blind to what their eyes should have seen when Lucy would show up at the house in high necked blouses and long sleeves during the hottest of summer days in Orlando. They never questioned the jeans she wore instead of shorts, or the ever-present sunglasses. Yes, willfully blind and thus complicit, and it filled her with bitterness and despair to remember how little support they gave her.

Even that last terrible night when she'd finally run away from Jerry. Lucy began to weep as she recalled the rage he had gone into simply because his uniform shirt was missing a button. Something so meaningless as to be laughable... yet, he had begun screaming at her, telling her she was useless.

XXXXX

_"Damn it, Lucy!" he yelled, his usually handsome face contorted with uncontrolled anger, "can't you do anything right? You lazy bitch! You sit in this house all day...all damn day! And you can't check my goddam shirts to make sure the buttons are still sewn on? I can't wear a shirt with a missing button."_

_Timidly, Lucy said softly, "Jerry, I'm sorry, honey. ...I don't know what happened... I always check your shirts before I hang them in the closet."_

_His brown eyes glittered dangerously and he grabbed Lucy's arm and hauled her into the bedroom, and opened the closet door. He reached in and began pulling the shirts off the hangers and throwing them in her face._

_"You checked 'em, huh? This one? How about this one? You check this one, too?" Each question was underscored by his tossing a shirt in her face._

_Beginning to sob, she said, "Jerry, please stop it, please. You can wear one of these..."_

_"I don't WANT to wear one of those," he interrupted angrily. "Lucy, you know how hard I work, the long hours, the crap I have to take, and all I ask of you is to cook, clean and MAKE SURE THE GODDAM BUTTONS ARE ON MY GODDAM SHIRTS!"_

_Realizing he was allowing himself to lose control again, Lucy tried unsuccessfully to wrest her arm from his painful grasp, all the while beginning to cry in earnest. "Jerry, please, let me go! I'll fix your shirt now, let me just get a needle and thread, it will only take a minute. I promise it will only take a minute!"_

_Her wet, lovely green eyes stared at his in fear, and she sickened as she saw a perverse sort of enjoyment begin to surface in his eyes. "Come on, Luce, you want to fix things? Well then, okay, let's fix 'em, babe." He yanked the shirt with the missing button from the floor, and then pulled her from the bedroom and dragged her to the kitchen, ignoring her cries of pain and fear._

_Yanking open the knife drawer, he pulled out one of the steak knives from within, and backed Lucy up against the counter with his bigger body so that she could not escape. Lucy was terribly frightened; he had smacked her around in the past, had given her a few bruised eyes for this or that imagined infraction of his constantly changing rules... but the knife was something new and Lucy was terrified._

_He lay the shirt next to her on the counter, and began to slice the buttons off of it, one button at a time. "See, Luce, this is how we fix it," he said, enjoying the fear on her face, "we just remove the problem by slicing all the buttons off. See? Now things are... consistent._

_"You've been bad, Lucy. You know how I like my shirts to be perfect. Is this a game to you?"_

_Too frightened to answer him, she just shook her head "no."_

_Angered at her silence, he screamed, "I JUST ASKED YOU IF THIS IS A GODDAM GAME TO YOU! ARE YOU DEAF AND STUPID?"_

_"It's not a game to me, Jerry, it's not a game," she sobbed desperately._

_Breathing hard while continuing to stare at her, he whispered silkily against her ear, "See what you do, Lucy? Why do you do this? Why do you try to make me angry, babe? Why do you play games? You know I hate to play games._

_"And now, you know, I'm going to have to teach you a little lesson..."_

_She interrupted, fear in her voice, "No! Please, no, I'll do better! I promise, I promise!"_

_"Too late, babe. You brought this on yourself. Next time you'll remember... no games... no games..."_

XXXXX

Lucy shuddered as she recalled the sing-song, bizarre tenderness in his voice as he kept repeating, "no games," each time making a shallow cut into her arm. Several small cuts, each one just deep enough to hurt and cause lots of bleeding, but not serious enough to do any real damage.

Even now, it chilled her to recall how calm he became when he finished, going into the bathroom to rinse the blood from his hands. She had been stunned, and continued standing in the kitchen in pain and shock, listening to him as he went into the bedroom and grabbed one of the previously discarded shirts from the floor, and slipped it on.

He walked back into the kitchen and coolly appraised her as he buttoned up his shirt and tucked it into his pants. He said nothing to her, just stared at her arm, as rivulets of blood trailed down it and slid off her fingertips onto the gold-flowered kitchen floor tiles. Coldly, buckling his belt, he instructed, "Clean up the floor when I leave... you're making a mess."

Finally, he picked up the badge that had been resting on the kitchen table and bearing mute witness to the fear and rage that had just occurred in the cheerful, sunny little kitchen. He pinned the "Orange County Sheriff's Department" badge to his breast pocket and walked out the back door. Lucy heard the car door open and slam shut, the motor start up, and the reassuring sound of the vehicle backing out of the drive way and heading down the street. The shock that had frozen her in place gave way with the diminishing sounds of Jerry's car maneuvering down the road, and she collapsed to the kitchen floor as her legs gave out beneath her.

It had been the worst day of her life, and that was saying something since Lucy Price had not experienced too many happy days until recently. And now her hard-won security and self-confidence was again in danger with just a phone call or two.

Taking herself in hand, she stood up and prepared to shower and dress, knowing she must show up as her employers required. Still, her frightened thoughts kept returning to the past and Jerry's obsession with 'games' and, again, she found herself thinking, _Will this ever end?_

_Across town in Miami, 9:00 a.m._

Listening as Kyle filled him in on matters in Afghanistan, Horatio carefully moved the lap top sitting on the table a bit to the right, trying to diminish the sun's glare which was bouncing off its screen. The strong sunlight poured through the French doors of his dining room and its strength slightly obscured his view of Kyle's face. While he listened intently to Kyle's words, he felt it just as important to have a clear view of his son's face; so much left unsaid could be gleaned from expressions, and Horatio studied Kyle's face for clues as to his well-being. Horatio understood that what Kyle didn't say was as least as important as what he said. While Kyle sounded cheerful, he detected a frisson of tension underlying the heartiness of the young man's conversation. His boy was clearly worried about something, and so Horatio waited, looking for clues.

Kyle paused awkwardly, allowing the conversation to lapse for a moment or two. "Dad," he began slowly, "I've been thinking about what I'd like to do with my future. I guess you know the time has come to decide whether I am going to re-enlist for another tour of duty."

Holding his breath, Horatio nodded. "Have you made a decision, Son?"

Kyle smiled. "The Army is pretty persuasive, Dad. They paint a nice picture of future opportunities, better pay... and it's true - there are a lot of opportunities for me if I stay in the service... but I have decided not to re-enlist. I am coming home in a couple of months."

"Kyle! Kyle, that is wonderful news," said Horatio, relief and happiness washing over his features. "Have you given any thought to what you want to do once you're home?"

Kyle looked at his father with a serious expression on his face, and Horatio was suddenly struck by how much Kyle had aged since he'd first joined the service - physically and emotionally. He went into the service as a raw boy, but no one could see what the boys in Afghanistan saw and still remain boyish.

Unconsciously mimicking his father's intensity, Kyle folded his hands on a table over twelve thousand miles from Miami and leaned in closer to the computer screen, looking steadily into Horatio's eyes.

"You know, Dad, being over here has made me... appreciate... how fleeting life is. Guys get blown up by roadside bombs, troops are ambushed by insurgents, rocket propelled grenades land in the midst of men settling down to eat, the friends who go out on routine patrol and come back with shrapnel in their legs... or missing limbs... "

Horatio swallowed painfully as he listened to the words spoken so matter-of-factly by Kyle, knowing that beneath the casual tone he employed there were scars and memories that would stay with the boy forever, and sights he'd seen that only his comrades would ever understand.

"I see the easy death and destruction... and I think to myself, 'Is this all there is? What's the point of it all?' Dad, I want my life to mean something. ...It would be a... waste... to survive all this... and not do something worthwhile." Kyle smiled crookedly, saying with a sweet awkwardness, "I want to be like you, Dad... I want to make a difference. I don't want to throw away this opportunity to do something good with my life, something that will make things a little better than they were before."

Kyle stopped speaking, and looked at his silent father questioningly. "Does that make sense, Dad? Do you understand?"

Horatio finally got past the painful lump in his throat and smiled warmly at this young man he loved so much. The pride he felt in Kyle and the words he'd spoken about wanting to make a difference for the sake of others was a palpable thing to Horatio, and he wondered how a man like Kyle had come from the misalliance of he and Julia Eberly.

"I do understand, Kyle, and I approve. Do you have a game plan, Son?"

"What would you say if I told you I was going to apply to the University of Miami in Coral Gables? They, ah, have a good pre-law program..."

"Pre-law, hmm? That is going to be a tough program; it will require a great deal of discipline and study."

"I know it will, but I want this. I'll do what it takes. You can count on that," said Kyle in the measured, steady tone that reminded Horatio once again that Kyle was a man.

A loud crash was heard from Horatio's kitchen, causing Horatio to turn and look in that direction. Fleetingly, Horatio saw Lauren's blond head duck out the side of the kitchen entryway and peek into the dining room. "Sorry," she whispered, an embarrassed smile briefly crossing her face, "iced-tea pitcher!" Just as quickly as the head appeared, it disappeared from view.

Horatio turned back toward the screen, and found Kyle's grinning face enjoying his father's mild discomfiture. "Got company, Dad? And so early in the morning?"

Clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand while refusing to meet Kyle's eyes, Horatio mumbled, "Sort of."

Kyle laughed out loud, enjoying the picture of his always in control father discomfited by the reality of his girlfriend's presence for the weekend. "So, that was Lauren, I take it?"

"It was," said Horatio, wishing to move the conversation on to different topics.

"I heard but couldn't see! Come on, Dad, when are you going to let me meet her?" Kyle was genuinely interested in meeting this woman in his father's life; his father had been seeing her for some time, and Kyle was curious about her.

"Son, you will meet her, I promise. But NOT over the computer - I want you to meet her in person... when you come home."

"So, she'll still be around when I come home, heh, Dad?" Kyle said teasingly. He liked teasing his too serious father; it had taken some time for Kyle to be comfortable enough with the relationship to do so.

"She will, if I have anything to do with it," said Horatio cryptically.

A serious expression crossed Kyle's face again as he looked searchingly at Horatio. "Why would you say that? You will have everything to do with it. She seems good for you; you seem somehow lighter than usual. Dad... man-to-man, don't screw this up, okay?"

Horatio couldn't help but smile at the idea of Kyle giving him advice about relationships. "Okay, Dr. Phil, I'll do my best to, ah, not screw things up."

Kyle laughed delightedly at his father's rather sorry attempt at humor. It felt good to laugh with Horatio.

Looking at his watch suddenly, Kyle frowned. "Dad," he said seriously, "I gotta get off now, but there is something I need to ask you before I go... Have you talked with Mom lately? I'm kind of worried about her."

Horatio felt small tendrils of guilt begin to prick the outer corners of his conscience. It had been almost two months since he'd last spoken with Julia. Life and casework had gotten in the way of his good resolutions about keeping an eye on her, mostly for Kyle's sake. But if he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that the primary reason for his neglect of Julia was that she depressed and irritated him at the same time. While it was a fact that Julia was a victim of her mental disorder, she also made the situation worse by refusing to stay on her medications. And once off the medications that worked to keep her on an even keel, she would act erratically and exercise poor judgment. Horatio tired of the calls in the middle of the night from a morose, inebriated Julia, and too many times he had been forced to leave work or head out in the early hours of the morning to sit with her, help her get cleaned up, and put her to bed. She would hit bottom, and then resolve to faithfully take her medications, but then the cycle would repeat itself. She was an obligation that Horatio had neither asked for or wanted, and, frankly, he was tired of it.

...still, she was Kyle's mother, and if he was worrying about her, it took his attention from situations and things he really needed to be worried about while in Afghanistan.

"What makes you think something is wrong with her, Son?"

"Just a gut feeling. We spoke a couple of weeks ago. She was flying kinda high... she is seeing someone. I don't know; I just have a bad feeling. Her seeing this guy... well, it isn't like you and Lauren. He seems like some slick guy, a 'holy-roller' type. She was talking about about God, and all the stuff she was going to do with her money to help fund missions work. Dad, she seems really taken with this guy, and I'm afraid he might be targeting her for her money."

"Did she give his name?"

"Yeah, and I wrote it down. Wait, here it is. His name is Quaid - Bradley Quaid."

"Okay, I'll check him out. And I will go see your mother."

Horatio watched the relief steal across Kyle's face, and Horatio felt better. _This is what was worrying the boy_, he realized. Kyle was certainly his son; never would he allow himself to forget his obligations to his family. His mother might have abandoned Kyle at one time, but Kyle would never abandon her.

"Son, don't worry about any of this. Leave it with me. You concentrate on taking care and getting home as soon as possible."

XXXXX

Ten minutes later, Lauren found Horatio still sitting in the dining room in front of the laptop, staring at the now blank screen, deeply lost in thought. Walking silently up from behind him, she carefully leaned over his shoulder and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Horatio roused suddenly, and saw a silky arm drape itself across his other shoulder, a glass of iced tea in hand. He smiled as her musical voice whispered temptingly in his ear, "Hey, Lieutenant, how about a frosted glass of my Grandma's special sweetened iced tea? Lots of lemon, a sprig of mint, and way too much sugar than any healthy person should have... But, oh my! So delicious!"

Horatio took the proffered glass, and drank deeply, enjoying the feel of the sweet, icy liquid as it streamed down his throat. She was right; it was good. Healthy, not so much.

He put down the half empty glass of tea and, swiveling around in his chair, he surprised Lauren by grasping her hips and gently forcing her onto his lap.

"So, good conversation with Kyle?" she asked, caressing the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck with her fingers, all the while searching his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, letting his head fall slightly forward, enjoying the sensation of those soft fingers against his skin. "He wants to meet you, you know."

Lauren grinned with pleasure. "Really? He said that?"

"Hmm... He also warned me not screw things up with you."

"Smart young man... just like his father."

"Well, looks like you will be getting your chance to meet him; he is not signing up for another tour of duty. Thinks he'll be home in a few months."

"Why, Horatio, that's wonderful, honey! How happy you must be... and relieved."

"Yes, on both counts." Horatio lifted his head, meeting her eyes, and with his hand he tenderly caressed the long silken strands of wavy blond hair that cascaded down one of Lauren's soft shoulders.

"He's worried about his mother, though," he continued. "In his last conversation with her, Julia mentioned a new boyfriend, and it sounds as if she's off her meds again."

Horatio's face suddenly creased with irritation. "Damn Julia," he said shortly. "With all Kyle has to worry about over there, he doesn't need to be worrying about her poor decisions."

Lauren said nothing, continuing to soothe the frustration he felt with her fingertips. Sighing with annoyance, he added, "I'm going to have to see her. I promised Kyle I'd look into it - and check out this character she is involved with. He's worried his mother's being taken advantage of."

"Kyle's a good man," she said softly, "... like his father."

Horatio's blue eyes gazed deeply into Lauren's. He recalled the first time he had seen her at a function given by the Mayor's office; he had been immediately taken by those interesting gray eyes with their black rimmed irises, and the waist-length pale blond hair. And he was still taken with her. "I think you're prejudiced," he said lightly.

"Hmm, I think you're right," she smiled. "Now, go do what you have to do. I haven't been back to my condo since my trip home to see the family, and I have to take care of some things there." She scooted off his lap.

"Come back later? We'll go to dinner."

"Sounds like a plan, mister."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four - The Games People Play

_Monday, lunchtime..._

Horatio looked up from his paperwork when Frank Tripp entered his office wearing a disgruntled look on his face, a look which pretty much matched Horatio's mood.

"Francis," he acknowledged, nodding toward the chair closest to his desk. "Is there a problem?"

Seating himself, Frank growled, "No... unless you count my ex-wife yanking my chain about money, a flat tire on the way to work, some punk kid flipping me the bird as he cut me off in traffic... and, oh yeah, when I got here, a call from my youngest complaining how her life 'sucks' because her mother treats her like she's 'brain dead.'"

Horatio grinned. "I don't know who to feel sorrier for, Frank.. Melissa or Carrie."

"Save your pity for Melissa; Carrie is one tough customer," said Frank.

"_Enfant terrible_, hmm? Well, Francis, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree..."

In spite of his irritation with the day, Frank had to grin. "You got that right. But I'm always stuck in the middle, trying to mediate between the two. I'm going to have a talk with Carrie, though... she and Melissa are like oil and water, but she needs to respect her mother as the authority figure... even if Melissa is acting like a pain in the ass."

"Well, I hope you don't put it _quite_ that way when you speak with Carrie," said Horatio with amusement.

A pained expression crossed Frank's face. "Of course not! Give me a little credit, Horatio!"

"My friend, I give you more credit than you'd ever imagine."

Frank began to rise from the chair. "Anyway, I stopped by to see if you wanted to grab a sandwich."

"No, not today. I have several calls I have to make, and this paperwork to get through. Rain check?"

"Sure." Frank turned to leave, but paused before reaching the door. "Horatio, have you ever heard of a church called 'Harvest Souls?'"

Surprised, Horatio raised his eyebrows. "Getting religion at this late date, Frank?"

"Hardly," he snorted. "A bunch of young people from the church were at my mother's seniors residence, handing out literature, selling Bibles. Had a big bus parked out in front of the building. I think they may be playing the people in the complex."

"How so?" asked Horatio with interest.

"Preying on them by offering friendship, a sense of importance, purpose... and then milking them for money."

"Any proof?"

Frank sighed. "No, nothing substantive at this point. Just a feeling. One of 'em talked my mother into dropping twenty-five bucks on a Bible she didn't need - and gave her a bunch of pledge cards... they call them 'love' offerings.'" He shook his head. "'Love offerings' - can you believe it?

"I don't like it, H. They're arranging weekly 'study' meetings... and I wonder if it's a set-up for fleecing the older residents into giving them money. You ever catch their TV show, 'Claiming Power?'"

"Can't say I have, but I've seen the billboards around town touting it."

"Watch it sometime. It's a circus. The preacher is 'Pastor Bobby' - tall, skinny guy with expensive suits, big gold watch, mop of thick black hair styled in a pompadour with sideburns - a real Elvis wannabe. His wife is called 'Sister' by the adoring audience, and she's always decked out in long white gowns. Guess for purity," he remarked sarcastically. "She drips jewelry, and bats big brown, heavily mascaraed eyes, all the while smiling beatifically as her husband begs money for the church. The message is if you give 'em money, God will shower you with material goods and healing. They seem like master con artists to me.

"And get this: every show has a segment where Sister has 'visions' of sick people in the viewing audience. Then Sister begins to cry as she tells them how she feels their pain, and then shudders as she commands the devil to leave their bodies so that divine healing can enter in. It's nutty. Here's the catch - the sick people have to 'claim' the healing... and are then conned into sending in a 'love offering' as an expression of their appreciation of God's healing through his 'vessel' - the good Sister. They call it the 'name it, claim it, pay it' gospel."

Horatio's mind drifted back to his meeting with the woman at the airport. "You know, Frank, I think I met one of the church's members when I was at the airport picking up Lauren. I recall the woman saying she had 'claimed' a healing for her son. Interesting..."

"Well, I'm going to see what I can find out about the church... and about the woman who sold the books to my mother. I don't know, Horatio... these people just give me the creeps. Damn bunch of holy rollers!"

Frank's use of the term 'holy rollers' caught Horatio's attention. "Frank, do me a favor. When you run your check on the church, see if you can find out anything about this man." Horatio wrote a name on a piece of paper and handed it to Frank.

"Bradley Quaid? You have reason to think this Quaid guy might be involved with the church group?"

"I'm not sure; probably not. Just something Kyle said about a man his mother is seeing. Kyle is worried the guy is interested in her for her money, and he referred to him as a 'holy roller' type."

"Julia involved with a church guy?" Frank chuckled with wry amusement. "That's a real stretch of the imagination, Horatio."

"Still, will you check it out for me? I promised Kyle I'd look into it."

"Sure. How is Kyle?"

Horatio looked at his friend and allowed his pleasure to show. "Kyle is good, Frank. And he is coming home to stay in just a few months."

"He's decided not to re-enlist?"

"That's right. He wants to come home and return to school. I can't tell you what a relief it is to know he will be coming home."

Frank's face broke into a genuine smile for his friend and he said, "That's great news, Horatio."

"Yes, it is," said Horatio briskly. "And I am going to do everything in my power to make certain he remains focused on staying alive these next few months by alleviating his worries about Julia."

XXXXX

Some hours later, Horatio put aside the now completed paperwork and rose from his chair, dismayed by how stiff his joints felt from several hours of sitting behind a desk. Putting his palms against the small of his back, Horatio stretched, leaning his body backward a bit, and giving in to the desire to yawn. He glanced out his office window; as he did so, his eyes fell upon the sight of a pretty, long-haired blonde.

The pretty blonde made him think of Lauren, and the thoughts that he had tried to suppress all morning could no longer be pushed aside. The discovery he made Sunday evening had unsettled him; more than that, it had depressed him.

After an early dinner on Sunday, Lauren had agreed to spend the night, and so she had returned with Horatio to his house and both settled in for a quiet evening. He had relaxed in a favorite chair, intent on perusing the several forensics journals he hadn't yet had the opportunity to review. Seated across from him in the dining area of the large, comfortable room, Lauren gazed at the screen of her lap top which was temporarily residing on the dining room table. She was concentrating on possible employment opportunities, and Horatio's home was silently and domestically content as the couple focused intently on their individual activities.

Recalling what happened to disturb the peacefulness he had been feeling at the time, Horatio frowned and he absent-mindedly rubbed the knot of tension at the back of his neck, allowing the previous evening's events to wash over him.

XXXXX

_Horatio raised his head abruptly from the journal he was studying when he heard Lauren's phone buzz, breaking the quiet peacefulness of the early evening. Startled, she picked it up and saw her mother was calling._

_"Hello, Mother." Looking at Horatio, she shrugged her shoulders, surprised to hear from her mother so soon after returning to Miami. "Hold on, Mother," she said, and looking once more at Horatio, she gestured that she was going to take the call in the bedroom. Horatio nodded and resumed reading his journal._

_After several minutes, he discovered his concentration was fading, and he put the journal aside. On his way to the kitchen for something to drink, he smiled as he viewed the clutter surrounding Lauren's lap top. She had several newspapers piled haphazardly on the table, all opened to the employment section. Horatio picked up one of the papers, and spied a folder that had been placed beneath it. Not thinking too much about it one way or the other, he casually lifted the folder, causing a paper from within to fall gently to the floor._

_Bending down to retrieve it, he noticed it was a letter on heavy, cream-colored stationery. The words "__**U.S. SENATE OFFICE**__," impressively imprinted in raised script at the top of the letter, leapt out at him; farther down, also in raised script but slightly smaller, was the name of the letter's sender, "__**ROBERT W. CARTWRIGHT, U.S. SENATOR FOR DELAWARE**__."_

_Curious, Horatio began to read the letter that was addressed to Lauren and was astonished to learn that she had been offered a position with the Senator's office at an impressive starting salary. He was also startled to find out that she had met with the Senator in his Washington D.C. office two weeks prior to receiving the offer._

'_So,' he thought unhappily, 'this is what kept her in Baltimore so long.' Placing the letter back in the folder and covering it once again with a newspaper, he sought to understand why Lauren hadn't mentioned either the interview or the resulting job offer to him. He could understand why the position would be appealing to her; neither Washington or Delaware was very far from where her family resided in Baltimore. It was a good position. Cartwright was a respected senator, and nothing like her erstwhile boss, the self-serving ex-Mayor of Miami._

_Horatio's mood darkened as he thought of the many professional advantages that working for a man such as Cartwright could provide Lauren. The more he thought of them, the more convinced he became that she was probably going to accept the position and was waiting for the right opportunity to tell him. It would certainly be the death knell for them as lovers; there was no way a meaningful relationship could be sustained at such distance._

_Experiencing by turns both anger and hurt, he wondered if he should confront her with his knowledge of the offer. In the end, he decided not to do so. Perhaps he was wrong, and she wasn't going to accept the position in spite of its advantages. He decided to wait, and let her bring it up for discussion._

_Fifteen minutes later, Lauren saw Horatio nursing a brandy on the back porch. She prepared one for herself and, carrying the snifter of brandy with her, joined him outside. If she noticed Horatio's quiet moodiness, she didn't mention it. Instead, she sat down next to him and reached for his hand. Together, they watched the vivid coral and pink skies over Miami change into the deeper hues of twilight, and in silence they listened to the muted, distant sounds of frolicking dogs barking as owners walked them near the crashing surf._

XXXXX

That had been last night, and Horatio wondered how much longer he would let the matter rest. He knew that if Lauren did not soon bring it up, he would. The undisclosed job offer stood between them like an unwelcome guest and could not be tolerated much longer. Still, it was a conversation that Horatio dreaded.

Another conversation he dreaded and had put off most of the day was the call to Julia.

Dealing with Julia was difficult. He never knew which Julia he would be confronted with: the subdued woman who was faithfully taking her meds, or the bouncing off the walls, frenetic one who thought she could be all things and do all things. That was generally how matters went when she was off the meds... and the mania would go on until she crashed. It made Horatio tired to think about it, and he was not much in the mood to deal with her today. But, remembering his promise to Kyle, he sighed and reached for his phone.

She picked the call up on the second ring, and Horatio greeted her. "Julia, it's Horatio."

After a brief pause, he heard the seductive voice answer. "Horatio... my reluctant knight... well, you've certainly been scarce. It has been several weeks since I've heard from you. Is your young girlfriend keeping you... busy?"

Pushing aside the momentary irritation that flared at her words, he replied, "I've meant to call you, but a lot has been going on. How are you, Julia?"

"Are you worried about me?"

"I'm always concerned about your well-being. You know that. I have been wanting to stop by and see you."

He heard the silence on Julia's end and wondered what she was thinking. He had never truly understood her, not even during those long ago days when their passion for one another was intense. She was always an enigma to him. He used to consider that part of her charm; now it just exhausted him.

Finally she spoke, and Horatio was taken aback by the coldness in her voice. "You've been 'wanting' to see me? Really? If that were true, you would have contacted me before now. I've never known you to be someone who let life get in the way of what you wanted to do.

"...but I suppose you have been rather busy. The scandal in the Mayor's office was very big news. What strings did you pull to keep your girlfriend's name out of the news, Horatio?"

She then laughed bitterly. "You really know how to pick them, 'John' - first, your brother's wife, and then one of the Mayor's lackeys."

Fury quick and hot rose up in Horatio, and he angrily answered, "And let's not forget _you_, Julia! All others pale in comparison to you when it comes to bad choices I've made." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Horatio regretted them. _What would Kyle think_, he wondered sadly_, if he heard this exchange_?

He realized he'd struck a nerve when he heard Julia's sharp intake of breath. He had never before been so... brutal... with her and he wondered if the problems with Lauren were making him short-tempered and mean. He knew Julia was emotionally fragile and usually made allowances for her behavior because of it. He was considering apologizing when he heard her speak.

"I'm sorry, Horatio," she said, subdued. "I was wrong to say those things."

Horatio felt his anger dissolve at her quiet admission, and he felt sadness and regret for the hard feelings between them. _She is my son's mother_, he reminded himself, _and also someone I once loved very much. Surely there must be something more for us than just anger and reluctant obligation_?

"I'm sorry, too. We have a son, Julia. Let's try to remember that, okay?"

"Okay," she sadly whispered.

"I'd like to stop by and see you. There's something I'd like to discuss with you. Could I come by after work?"

"Will you have dinner with me?" she asked. "Sometimes... I get so lonely. Please?"

Horatio was about to decline, but then thought better of it. Dinner would allow him to observe Julia and to question her about the man that Kyle mentioned. He and Lauren had no plans to see one another that evening. And, truthfully, Horatio still felt badly about the harsh tone he employed against Julia a few moments ago in their conversation.

"I would like that. I can be there at seven, if that works for you."

He felt much better once the call with Julia was concluded, less guilty about his angry remarks toward her, and reassured that he was acting once again in a manner that would not cause his son sadness. _For better or worse, I will always have Julia to contend with, _he thought with resignation_. But it's worth it for the boy's sake._

XXXXX

Julia walked through her impressive house to the beautiful patio outside and sat down on the ledge of the adjoining swimming pool, contemplating the sun's rays bouncing off the calm blue water. An outside observer would have had trouble reading her face, so still and expressionless was it, as she stared fixedly at the glistening water. The mirror-like surface of the water and the warmth of the placid afternoon projected a sense of tranquility.

Suddenly, fiercely, Julia shoved her hand deeply and vigorously into the still water, thrashing it about, creating frenzied havoc to its previously peaceful state.

Several chaotic seconds went by until, carefully, she withdrew her hand, and stared with fascination as the water's surface slowly and serenely calmed.

And, all the while, a very odd and disturbing smile played about her lips.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five - Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

_Monday, late afternoon..._

Listening to the on-again, off-again rain pelting against the bedroom window, Lauren stood in front of her bed, sorting through the collection of brightly colored clothing piled on top of it. Several weeks ago, Alexx Woods had contacted her, asking if Lauren had any used clothing she would be willing to donate to the organization, "Positive Change for Miami." Alexx had explained they were collecting clothing for the "Dress For Success" initiative, which was part of an annual job fair they sponsored to place job candidates with potential employers. PCFM, as the organization was familiarly known, was a favorite of Horatio's and so Lauren always tried to support it. Having firsthand knowledge and experience with the harsh underbelly of glamorous Miami, he appreciated the work PCFM performed on behalf of the indigent and immigrant families in the Greater Miami area. The "Dress for Success" drive provided suitable clothing for poor women trying to re-enter the workforce, and Lauren was pleased that she had several nice suits she no longer wore that she could donate.

As she packed up the pretty suits into a large box for the employment seekers, the irony of the situation was not lost on her. _Guess they aren't the only ones trying to re-enter the workforce,_she thought ruefully. She finished boxing up the clothing and decided she'd drop the box off to Alexx the next day.

Walking toward the bedroom window, Lauren noticed the skies were starting to clear. Perhaps the rain was finally over. She then looked around her bedroom, trying to decide which task she was going to undertake next. It was only 5:00 in the afternoon, but it felt much later. She had spent her day trying to stay busy - she'd scrubbed down the kitchen walls, washed up the oven, straightened the pantry, cleaned out the refrigerator/freezer... heck, she'd even wiped clean the spice drawer and then restocked the spices... in alphabetical order, no less! She began to worry when she realized she had spent several minutes trying to decide where the jar of Star Anise should reside... should it go in the A section for Anise, snuggled up next to the Allspice? Or should it be placed in the S section for Star, keeping company with the Saffron?

_Good grief,_ she thought with dark amusement, _I really need to find a job. And soon._

The truth was that Lauren was bored. Bored out of her mind. And she was slightly depressed. Since losing her job, she had been feeling like a fish out of water, performing meaningless tasks to fill the hours of the day.

She considered calling Horatio, and asking him if he were free to come for dinner, but then decided against it. She worried that he might think she was a clinging vine and that was the last thing she wanted him to think.

As much as she hated to admit it, without her work, insecurities about her self-worth and her relationship with Horatio had begun to plague her.

It had always been important to Lauren to have her own career and interests; that hadn't changed when she became involved with Horatio. If anything, their importance in her life had increased. She sensed that Horatio admired independent, capable women - interesting women who had their own lives and were not just appendages in a relationship. Lauren worried that she would become boring. _What if he called me now? Would I share with him that I spent the entire day cleaning and alphabetizing my spice drawer? _she thought dismally.

Horatio, she reasoned, had fallen in love with a woman who had her own life, someone who didn't rely solely on him for entertainment or as a means to fill empty hours. And she loathed the thought that he might begin to view her as a needy, depressed woman who constantly required cheering up. Without the stimulation of meaningful work and a life not solely dedicated to their relationship, she worried she would become boring - in her conversation, her viewpoints, her interests. It frightened her to consider that Horatio might ever grow bored with her.

When Lauren thought of her attractive lover, her mind pictured a vital, magnetic man engaged with his job, his community and his friends. It did not go unnoticed by her that Horatio came into contact with bright, capable, attractive women every day. She considered the lovely Southern ballistics expert with whom he had an affectionate and close working relationship, and the pretty, doe-eyed brunette who lately seemed to work so many cases with Horatio. The female detectives, the clever attorneys, the reporters who always seemed to fawn over him... sometimes it seemed to Lauren that there was a never-ending parade of smart, capable women with whom she had to compete for Horatio's attention.

She wasn't really concerned about Calleigh or Natalia... or even his beautiful sister-in-law, Yelina. Generally, she didn't worry about any of the women with whom he came into contact. She had felt secure in who she was and her place in Horatio's affections. But lately... nagging little doubts had begun to surface about her own ability to fascinate him. When Lauren had confided these fears to her mother, she had gently laughed at Lauren, assuring her that her self-confidence had taken a small hit with the loss of her position, but that what she was feeling was temporary and would pass when she found another job.

_Found another job... found another job..._ The words played like a frustrating litany in Lauren's head. _Finding another job is easier said than done in this terrible economy, _thought Lauren. It wasn't as though good opportunities grew on trees.

And yet, she had made up her mind to pass one by. Her head began to ache as she re-visited the pros and cons of what she had decided to do, and Lauren looked around for something to distract her thoughts from the well-worn avenues they had lately begun to travel.

Spying her Kindle sitting on her bureau, Lauren decided to knock off the busy work for the remainder of the day and lose herself in reading. Grabbing a bottle of water and her phone, she walked out on her balcony and sank down on the chaise lounge. The rain had finally ended, and the sun was shining brightly. Looking around, Lauren found herself admiring the colorful potted plants she had placed on the balcony just yesterday. She cheered up a bit and began to read the biography she'd started during her flight from Baltimore to Miami; perhaps now that she was not being buffeted about by wind, rain and lightning, she would be able to take up the material with more attentiveness.

An hour passed and Lauren had become so absorbed in her reading that she was startled by her phone's ring tone. Anticipating it might be Horatio, her hopes deflated when she realized it was her father calling. A dispirited "Hi, Pop," was the greeting the older man received.

"Well, Myrtle, darlin', I'm not hearin' much enthusiasm for your dear old Dad in that greetin'," Jimmy Chambers gruffly answered, affectionately using the childhood nickname he'd given Lauren when she was a pig-tailed toddler. "Were you hopin', maybe, it would be someone else?"

Lauren grinned with humorous affection as she listened to her father's ever-present habit of dropping the 'G's' from the endings of words. Her very precise and proper mother always chastised him for this lazy way of speaking, but to no avail; she could never quite get him to remember those errant "G's," and so, after awhile, she simply accepted it as part of his boisterous, colorful personality.

"Sorry," she laughed, "you caught me! I thought you might be Horatio. So, how are you?"

Her father frowned at the thought that Lauren was so focused on that mysterious cop boyfriend of hers that she was disappointed when her callers weren't him, but he let his annoyance pass for the moment. There were other unpleasant matters he wished to bring up with his girl, and he wasn't sure how to begin. The truth was that Jimmy Chambers had decided to do something he rarely did - and that was ignore the advice of his smart, intuitive wife. He generally found Margaret Chambers' advice to be sensible, and he respected his wife's point of view in matters large and small... but when it came to his Laurie and the mess he believed she was making of her life, personally and professionally, he was having a hard time restraining his feelings. Margaret kept telling him that choices about her life were Lauren's to make and that he shouldn't interfere, but he found that easier said than done. No matter how old his daughter became, she would always be his girl and he was determined to advise her when he felt she was making poor decisions. His feelings were especially strong since his wife had mentioned her discussion with Lauren the day before.

Surprised by the lapse in conversation after her usually-ebullient father's greeting, Lauren asked, "Pop? Are you still there?"

Gathering his thoughts, Jimmy carefully replied, "Yes, darlin', I'm here, and I'm fine. ...Wish I could say the same for you, though," he said heavily.

_Oh no,_ Lauren thought, _Mother's told him about our conversation, and now here it comes! _Lauren braced herself for the dressing down sure to come. She knew her father wasn't going to be happy with her decision, but it couldn't be helped.

"Pop, I am perfectly fine," she began defensively.

"Really? Perhaps then you are sufferin' from sunstroke?"

Confused, Lauren asked, "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I'm guessin' that you must be gettin' too much sun and it has addled your ability to reason. I can think of no other explanation as to why you would turn down an excellent job opportunity with a United States Senator. You lost a job that wasn't half as good an opportunity for you as this one. You should be thrilled... instead you turn it down." Jimmy felt his anger starting to kindle as he thought of the good opportunity she was throwing away - and the chance to be near her family. And for what? No job, no family nearby, and an enigmatic cop who was far too old for her in Jimmy's opinion. "Have you lost your common sense, girl?"

Uncomfortable with the direction in which the conversation was going, Lauren tried to quickly think of a way to defuse her father's irritation with her. She hated disappointing him and it hurt her when they fought. Still, he needed to accept that she wasn't some twenty-something ingenue, unable to chart her own destiny.

She had hoped that sharing the information first with her mother would have bought her some time and blunted his annoyance - her skillful mother was adroit in handling her passionate father. But, apparently, her father was not going to be "handled" this time.

"Pop," she began, "you're right - it is a wonderful opportunity. But it's not the right opportunity for me."

"And may I ask why not?" he challenged.

Lauren sighed in irritation. "Because it is in Washington - and not Miami. You knew when I went to meet with the Senator that I was not going to take the job."

"But you went," he said accusingly, "and that meant you had not ruled it out."

"I went," she countered, "because you kept badgering me! As soon as you learned that Mark approached me about possibly working for Senator Cartwright, you were like a dog with a bone, worrying me and hounding me. I went just to keep the peace so I could continue to have a nice visit with Grandpa, mother and my sisters! "

Jimmy flushed with anger. "You're lucky you have such a good friend in Mark - he recognizes that you're smart and capable and so he wants you to join him on the Senator's team. Not many old college friends come through just when you need them.

"And that's a nice way to put it - that I 'badgered' you. I convinced you to do somethin' that was in your own best interests! Damn it, Laurie! You impressed the hell out of them and they came through with a great offer... and you're goin' to just... throw it away? Why? Why would you do this?"

"Pop," she quietly answered, "you know why."

A lot of the anger went out of Jimmy as he listened to his daughter's subdued tone. "So, it's him, isn't it? This cop you're seein'.

"Laurie, Laurie... " His voice heavy with sadness, Jimmy asked, "Are you sure about this? Livin' far from home? Involved with a man older than you... Don't you want to get married? Have a family? Is he even committed to you?"

"You're not fighting fair," she said, stung, and her throat thick with tears. "You don't even know him!"

"And whose fault is that? Have you ever brought him home? Have you even tried to bring him home? He has to know we want to meet him."

Lauren was silent. While it was true she had never asked Horatio to go home with her in so many words, she had dropped hints... and he had skillfully avoided picking up on them. She sensed he was uncomfortable at the thought of meeting her family. Why that was so, she wasn't sure, and it was something she'd intended to discuss with him. Was it because it implied a commitment he wasn't willing to make?

"Horatio loves me and we're in a committed relationship," she said finally, a little more forcefully than necessary.

Unconvinced, her father scoffed, "'Committed relationship'... what does that mean? Seems to me the one who is committed is you.

"Life goes by awfully quick, Laurie, and before you know it, you're my age. I don't want my girl to wake up one day with regrets for what might have been. There, we'll be sayin' no more about it - but I want you to think about this. This is your life - not a dress rehearsal."

"Don't worry about me, Pop. Things will be better once I have a job offer."

"You HAVE a job offer," he said stubbornly.

Equally stubborn, she emphatically replied, "But not IN Miami."

XXXXX

Frank Tripp sat in his cubicle at the MDPD Crime Lab, staring at the computer print-out he held in his hands; the print-out detailed the history of the Harvest Souls Congregation. On paper, the church and its activities looked pretty benign, but Frank's natural cynicism and his instincts told him there was more to it.

The pastor, Bobby Braxton, was the son and grandson of country preachers. He met his first wife at a Bible College in Oklahoma, and they married when he graduated. His initial ministry was in North Carolina, and he and his new wife pastored a small, backwoods community not far from Asheville. Braxton then moved from one small, poor church to another over the next eighteen years until he renewed the old practice of going from town to town, holding tent revival meetings at which he would exhort his followers in fired-up language to repent their sins. This was a lucrative business for Bobby; as word of his preaching began to circulate, hundreds of people began to show up at the revivals. His biggest and last tent revival meeting took place in Georgia. It was such a success that Bobby and his men (whom he affectionately called his "boys") discussed the feasibility of transplanting the ministry to Miami and giving up the traveling life. With the money made from the revivals, he moved to Miami and bought air time on a small television station that broadcast religious programming.

His first wife had died in an automobile crash shortly before the move to Miami, and Braxton married Lee-Anne Quaid a year later. Braxton had met Lee-Anne at the big tent revival meeting in Georgia when she came forward to be baptized. Charismatic and beautiful, Lee-Anne added sparkle to Braxton's ministry. With Bobby's preaching and Lee-Anne's visions and faith healing, the hour-long TV show in Miami took off, gaining prominence, and allowing he and the boys to purchase the small television station. Quickly, he did well enough on the air to add additional stations, and the Harvest Souls Network was born. The network's programming gained popularity with shut-ins, stay-at-home moms, and retired folks, and was the bread and butter in the financing of the castle-like structure in Miami which was called the Harvest Souls Congregation and which spread out on a campus equal to the size of the University of Miami. Ultimately, the network of television stations was managed from the site.

It was a huge operation. _The business of saving souls is a profitable one, _thought Frank grimly.

Frank was surprised that Lee-Anne Braxton's maiden name was the same as the name given to Frank by Horatio to check. Some additional research disclosed that Bradley Quaid was Lee-Anne's older brother, and also one of Bobby's boys. Apparently, their relationship went back to the early days of the tent revivals, and Quaid was one of Bobby's trusted friends as well as someone who held an important position within the Harvest Souls operation.

_Interesting_, thought Frank. He found a photo of Quaid online. He was standing with the Braxtons and others of their group at the opening ceremony at the mega church's site. Like his sister, Lee-Anne, Frank could see he was an attractive person. He appeared to be in his early forties, was tall, and Frank would imagine he'd be considered a good looking guy by the females. Maybe it wasn't so far off the beaten track to think he might have caught Julia's eye.

Frank couldn't find anything really damning about Quaid aside from his suspicions that he might be as big a con artist as the Braxtons. But suspicions and his natural distrust of these hard sell religious types were all he had to go on, and so he had nothing concrete to offer Horatio.

Flipping off the computer, Frank rose from behind the desk and switched off the light over his cubicle. He'd done enough thinking about those religious wackos for the last few days. Heading toward the elevator, he saw Natalia waiting for the door to open. Glancing his way, she smiled with pleasure. "Hi Frank, heading out for the evening?"

Frank liked Natalia. He liked her easygoing friendliness, and he'd seen few women who could fill out a tee-shirt as well as the pretty brunette. "Yeah, I've had it for the day," he said. "Thought I'd stop for a beer on the way home. How about you? Want to get a beer?"

"Sure, I could use one. Brutal day.

"I interviewed a particularly nasty guy," she added, as they stepped through the doors and onto the car. "I was trying to get some background on his wife to help in the investigation of her murder, but he wasn't giving an inch."

"He a suspect in the murder?"

"No, not at all. Seems they had a good marriage, and he has an airtight alibi for the time of her death." Irritation crept into Natalia's tone as she said, "He just seems to hate cops, Frank, even though we are trying to help solve his wife's murder. I got the impression he would rather eat dirt than cooperate with us. Oh well, we've met his kind before. Occupational hazard, I guess."

"I guess so," he agreed as they left the Crime Lab, all the while his thoughts recalling the pretty woman he'd met at the Towering Palms complex and her reaction upon learning he was a detective. _Irrational or not,_ agreed Frank inwardly, _some people do just hate cops. But why did it have to be one who was so damned pretty?_

XXXXX

_Later that evening..._

The sun was slowly descending when Horatio pulled into the driveway of Julia's "humble" house. It still astonished him that Julia lived in such opulence... she had certainly come a long way financially from the woman he'd been involved with during his undercover days.

Ringing the doorbell, he wore an inscrutable expression while waiting for Julia to appear, his sunglasses hiding any feelings his eyes might disclose. He was grateful for the glasses' protective shield when Julia finally answered the door; he wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it sure wasn't this. His eyes took in the bright red dress she was wearing, a dress that appeared to be painted on to a voluptuous body and had a plunging neckline. The hem reached past her knees, but any modesty the length might have conveyed was dispelled by the thigh-high slit on the right side. Horatio was a man, and had a man's appreciation for a beautiful woman, and his gaze unconsciously wandered the length of Julia's person, from the top of her blond head to the four-inch high heeled shoes.

Sensing that she'd achieved just the result she wanted, Julia smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, whispering with an amused, seductive chuckle, "Glad you could come to dinner... 'John.'"

Horatio smiled, feeling he'd somehow lost the first round of what usually turned into a sparring match between them. How this was so, he wasn't quite certain, but he was uncomfortably aware that Julia had noticed his unwilling admiration for her appearance. Swallowing the momentary irritation he felt at her slightly sarcastic use of his old undercover name, he followed her through the house out to the patio where she had prepared the table by the pool for dinner.

Going from siren to vulnerable child in seconds, she dropped the seductive, slightly sarcastic tone, and said wistfully, "Horatio, I'm really grateful you could come to dinner. I've had a lot on my mind, and no one to share it with."

Horatio sat down and, removing his sunglasses, looked at Julia intently. "What's going on, Julia?"

Handing Horatio a glass of chilled wine, she answered, "I've met someone, Horatio. Someone pretty wonderful. I am thinking about... marriage."

Startled, Horatio sat the wineglass down and leaned forward. "Marriage? ...That's a pretty big step, Julia. How long have you known this man?"

"Not long," she admitted, "but sometimes it doesn't take long. How long did it take us, Horatio, to fall in love? When feelings are strong, the desire to commit comes quickly."

Horatio frowned. "What do you know about him?"

Mistaking Horatio's concern for something more, Julia smiled; no matter what he said, Julia believed he still loved her - and always would. "I know everything I need to know about him. He's a good guy, Horatio. Like you, he's a pillar of the community. And he's successful. Very successful."

Changing tactics, Horatio said quietly, "Kyle is worried about you. He is concerned that this man may be taking advantage of you."

"Bradley isn't taking advantage of me! Kyle is letting his imagination run away with him. He worries too much."

"You're his mother. He loves you. And you must realize that if he's worried about you, it could distract him - and that would be very bad."

"Then you should tell him you had dinner with me... and that everything is just fine."

Sighing, Horatio replied, "I can't do that unless I know for certain that is the case. Has this man asked you for money?"

"That is none of your business!"

"You're evading the question. Have you given him any money?"

"Well, what if I have?" she sullenly replied. "It's my money and it was for a good cause!"

"How much have you given him?"

"It wasn't that much. And he didn't ask for the money - I gave it to him. And I'd do it again!" she said defiantly.

Horatio regarded her silently. This was getting them nowhere.

He watched as Julia took a generous swallow from her wineglass. Unwillingly, his thoughts drifted back almost twenty years ago to a hotel room in the late afternoon, the slats of wooden shutters closed against the harsh, late afternoon sun. He and Julia had lain atop rumpled sheets in the hot afterglow of a quickly resolved passion, gazing upward at the palmetto fan above them as it lazily stirred the humid, hot afternoon air. He recalled watching Julia rise languidly from the bed, and walk over to the ice bucket sitting on the hotel's wicker bureau. She chose several ice cubes and dropped them into a glass, and poured gin from the neighboring bottle over the cubes. Raising the glass toward Horatio in a silent toast, she had smiled, and drank deeply from it. Young and hot for the beautiful woman, Horatio had watched her movements as if mesmerized, and when trickles of the icy liquid slid down the side of her lips onto her throat, he wanted nothing more than to lick the stray droplets away.

Rousing himself from that old memory, he watched Julia closely as she refilled her wineglass. Abruptly, he asked, "Julia, are you still taking your medication?"

"...Yes... More or less," she answered evasively.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Horatio rebuked her. "Julia, this isn't a game! You shouldn't be drinking... and you shouldn't go off your meds."

"And you have no idea what it is like to be on them all the time! Horatio, when I'm on them, I don't feel alive! I don't feel like ME! Besides... I no longer need them."

This was news to Horatio. He had been advised by Julia's doctors that she would require the medication for the rest of her life. "Did your doctor tell you that? Have you changed physicians?"

"You'll never understand, Horatio. A few months ago, at Bradley's urging, I gave my heart to God... and Bradley says I'm now cured! I don't need to take the drugs any longer. I'm no longer in bondage to them! I feel fantastic!"

Horatio grew alarmed as Julia became increasingly excited. Was she having a manic attack? He was about to attempt to soothe her when she abruptly calmed herself.

"You'll never understand, Horatio. It isn't in you. You have no faith."

XXXXX

An hour later, Horatio sat in his car, still parked outside Julia's magnificent home. He was drained from watching her moods change like quicksilver throughout the evening. He understood now why Kyle had been worried about her.

Horatio thought back to the early days of their relationship. Were there clues to her sickness, even back then? If so, he had missed them.

He started up the car, and slowly pulled away from Julia's house of chaotic mood swings. He was certain that she was being taken advantage of, and he meant to contact Bradley Quaid and give him warning that Julia was under his protection. Protection he was determined to provide whether she wanted it or not.

Heading back to his house, Horatio thought longingly of the sensitive, sane beauty he was in love with, counting himself lucky after having spent a few hours with the mercurial Julia. Now, he wanted nothing more than to hear Lauren's cool, calming voice, and he resolved to call her before turning in for the night.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six - Surprises

_Early Tuesday Morning, along a shabby stretch of Biscayne Boulevard...  
_  
Horatio stepped out of the Hummer, adjusted his sunglasses, and slammed shut the vehicle's door behind him. Standing in his characteristic pose with legs spread, feet firmly planted on the ground and hands on hips, his face bore an impassive expression as he surveyed his surroundings. He had been called out to a motel in a low-rent part of Miami, the seedy part of Biscayne Boulevard. He noticed a small group of people off to the side, watching him and murmuring amongst themselves. Every once in awhile, his sharp ears detected the word "dawg" as well as some choice epithets spoken in low, truculent tones. _Friendly crowd_, thought Horatio, darkly. His alert eyes took in the thick, unkempt grass, the overgrown shrubs and trees surrounding the motel, and the weeds growing in the cracks of broken cement between the parking curb and the sidewalk leading to the rooms.

A few yards from where he was standing was a run down building with a stark 1960s-style pink and black neon sign that read **EDEN ROC MOTEL - VACANCY**. There was a break between that building, ostensibly the motel manager's office, and the two rows of single-story, flat-roofed motel rooms surrounding a small in-ground swimming pool. There appeared to be twenty rooms altogether, each one possessing one large dirty window with a beige window shade for privacy, and a single, battered, wooden door. The swimming pool had seen better days and was no longer in use; its cement interior was cracked and filled with puddles of fetid, greenish water from the rain the day before. A weathered sign on the chain link fence encircling the pool read **CLOSED FOR THE SEASON**.

Looking to his left, Horatio noticed a slight, skinny male seated on an old, beat-up chair that had been removed from inside his room and was now propped up against its open door. Dressed in a faded orange tee-shirt and baggy, dirty jeans, the middle-aged man sported a black skull-and-bones tattoo, a long, gray pony tail, and about three days' worth of stubble on his face. He was speaking, unwillingly, to the young police officer who was standing in front of him, taking notes.

Decisively, Horatio turned and walked briskly to the end of the motel court where he saw the ubiquitous yellow tape of a crime scene blocking off entrance to one of the rooms. With one hand, he lifted the tape, and, bending forward, walked beneath it, entering into the hot, dark interior of the room. His nose immediately wrinkled up at the stench of early stage decomp, and he quickly pulled from his pocket a small tube of menthol. He dabbed a tiny bit where his nostrils met, and the smell of the decomp was slightly more bearable. Removing his sunglasses and giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, he greeted the room's occupants. "Gentleman, what do we have here?"

Eric, dusting the phone on the table near the bed for prints, gazed up at his boss, a look of disgust creasing his fine features, and said, "Young woman, dead... in the bathroom, H. Appears to have been strangled... Tom can tell you more."

With a slightly sardonic smile, he added, "Not a pretty sight... hope you haven't just eaten breakfast..."

Horatio raised a brow at him and walked over to the small area that functioned as a shower and toilet. As he put on gloves, he noted the discolored, mildewed walls and the rust-stained cracks in both the toilet and the shower walls. Tom was leaning over a figure laying in the bathtub. The body and the hair confirmed it was female... but the face was sexually unrecognizable.

Eric's throwaway remark about breakfast popped into Horatio's head as he looked at the creature in the tub, its face almost purple and grotesque from its death throes. Sensing Horatio's presence, Tom Loman briefly looked up from his examination of the body. "Lieutenant," he acknowledged grimly. Gesturing toward the body, he remarked, "Meet Savannah Ralston of Jacob's Creek, Georgia; blonde, blue-eyed, and forever, sadly, twenty-four..."

Horatio looked at him questioningly. "Savannah Ralston? You've already established identity?"

"Yeah, H," Eric interrupted. "We found her license in a wallet near the bed." He handed the laminated card to Horatio who studied the photo ID. "Manager confirmed she checked in under that name."

"Young and pretty," Horatio commented, continuing to study the card. "Who called it in?"

"Manager. The maid couldn't open the door - they clean this place every other day. She told the manager and he called it in."

Tom, prelim on COD?"

"At this point, I'd guess ligature strangulation based on the apparent abrasions around the throat, the facial petechiae, and then... the eyes... Look," said Tom, using two fingers to open the girl's right eye and nodding toward the redness of the whites, "obvious signs of subconjunctival hemorrhage. All are indications of that mode of strangulation."

"How about time of death?"

"Based on decomp, perhaps 48 hours ago. Maybe longer. Hard to say."

Horatio knelt down on one knee and looked at the girl's hands. "Eric, look at this, please."

Squatting down next to Horatio, Eric took one of the girl's hands in his two gloved ones. "She was a fighter, H."

"Yes, indeed she was, Eric," commented Horatio, viewing the girl's torn and bloody nails. "She did not go willingly... or easily."

"We've swabbed for epithelial evidence."

"Okay... that's good. Tom, anything interesting about the ligature marks?"

Loman looked up again from the body and over toward Horatio. "A cord of some type. A few fibers - the lab can tell us more later."

"Hmm... Anything else at first glance, gentlemen?"

"Found some glass fragments near the tub - found them quite by accident," Tom answered. "When I knelt down to examine Ms. Ralston, I felt something pierce my knee - turned out to be slivers of glass. They're going to Trace."

Horatio nodded. "Anything more?"

"We did find this, H," said Eric, handing over to Horatio a piece of paper that had the words **EDEN ROC **printed at the top.

"This from the small pad next to the telephone near the bed?" asked Horatio.

"Yeah, torn from it... but it was on the floor, almost beneath the bed."

Horatio read the words handwritten on the paper: **BB / HSC 555-214-1234**.

He met Eric's eyes. "Looks like a phone number, doesn't it?"

"That's what I thought," replied Eric.

Horatio gazed at the message for a few seconds longer and then pulled out his cell phone and quickly punched in the number. It was picked up on the first ring.

"Good morning! Be a blessing to someone today!" trilled the polite, professional voice. "This is Harvest Souls Congregation. How may I help you?"

Horatio terminated the call, deep in thought. _Well, well_, he thought, _Harvest Souls. So why would Ms. Ralston have the number to this church? 'BB' - Bobby Braxton? What is the connection here?  
_  
Leaving the motel room, Horatio called back to his team members, "Eric, Tom, keep me apprised of what you find."

As he headed back to the Hummer, Horatio was still deep in thought and barely registered that the group of surly bystanders was still milling about, making disparaging noises and rough comments. Several officers waded into the group, and, slowly, the gathering reluctantly dispersed.

Reaching the Hummer, Horatio punched another number into his phone. "Francis," he asked, "Feel like going to church today?"

XXXXX

_Across town at the headquarters of POSITIVE CHANGE FOR MIAMI..._

Lauren sat in the lobby of PCFM, patiently waiting for Alexx Woods to arrive. When Lauren had called Alexx that morning with the intention of stopping by the hospital to see her and dropping off the donated clothing, Alexx had surprised her by asking Lauren to meet her at PCFM instead.

Over the phone, Lauren had listened as Alexx's sunny, warm voice requested, "Honey, today is one of my pro bono days with PCFM, so if you could meet me there with the clothing, I'd appreciate it. Besides, I'd like to show you around - give you a feel for what we do. I'm pretty proud of this organization!"

Horatio had told Lauren that Alexx sat on the board of PCFM and that she occasionally donated time in the field to them as well. Alexx's medical skills were greatly prized by the organization which provided mobile medical care to the community in addition to many other services. Lauren had long been curious about PCFM since Alexx was so enthusiastic about it and also because Horatio so highly valued it. Thus it was with great interest that Lauren agreed to meet Alexx at PCFM's offices.

While she waited, she looked around the large, brightly lit lobby. On its walls were blown-up black-and-white photographs of children, young parents, senior citizens, and people of various ethnicities, all in the act of receiving some sort of medical assistance, tutoring, or care packages from members of PCFM. The employees and volunteers who had been walking in and out of the lobby as she waited seemed happy and purposeful, filled with cheerful enthusiasm. _Seems a happy place to work_, she thought, watching two women and one man hanging a large photograph of a small toddler having her heart checked by one of the physicians who apparently volunteered time with PCFM. The little girl appeared to be of Haitian ancestry and her sweet face was wreathed in smiles as she and the physician gazed at one another. As she thoughtfully studied the photograph, Lauren felt some of the heaviness that had oppressed her the past few days slowly give way. _It is so easy to become self-obsessed when you fail to look at the big picture_, she thought, and resolved not to give way to self-pity again - or to the uncertainty her father's telephone call had internally caused her.

Several minutes later, Alexx came bustling into the entrance of PCFM, briefcase and medical bag in hand. Spotting Lauren seated off to the side of the lobby's entrance, Alexx's lovely face broke into a warm smile. "Hi, sugar! Sorry to keep you waiting. Things were hopping at the hospital and I had a bit of trouble getting out promptly." Lauren rose and was engulfed in an affectionate hug.

"I'm glad you could meet me here - now you can share with your generous Lieutenant how his money is being spent," Alexx said teasingly, with a grin and a wink. Lauren laughed, aware of how generous Horatio was to PCFM and also knowing that he'd never question use of his money by any organization Alexx was associated with.

Herding Lauren past the receptionist and through doors leading to a group of small offices, Alexx gestured to a cute, bubbly young woman who was speaking on the telephone outside one of the offices. She looked up at Alexx, threw her a dazzling smile, and, with a well-practiced gesture, adjusted the eyeglasses that had slid slightly down the bridge of her pert nose. Alexx directed Lauren into the office near the young woman, offered her a seat and sat down herself.

"Whew! What a morning!"

"Alexx," began Lauren, "if you're busy, you can show me around some other time. I left the box of clothes out front with the receptionist."

Alexx regarded Lauren levelly. "I am never too busy to spend some time with you, Lauren - or to share the wonderful work PCFM is doing in the community. I think you'll be surprised and impressed."

At that moment the young woman who had been on the phone entered the office. Alexx introduced her. "Sharon, this is Lauren Chambers, a dear friend of mine. Lauren, I'd like you to meet Sharon Eriksen. Sharon is the administrative assistant to the PCFM team of executives. But the truth is," said Alexx, lowering her voice in a humorously confidential tone, "Sharon runs the joint, don'tcha, sugar? She knows where the bodies are buried, whose skeleton is hidden in which closet, and how to get anything you want done even before you ask for it. And here's a big plus: Sharon can get just about anyone, anywhere, and anytime on the phone. No one is out of reach of Sharon. She's our own Sherlock Holmes!"

Sharon blushed, but grinned with pleasure. "We do aim to please," she said agreeably, and put out a friendly hand to shake Lauren's. "Hi, Lauren. Don't pay any attention to Alexx... she just flatters me because she knows I always make a Starbucks run just for her when she comes in to PCFM."

Lauren laughed, knowing of Alexx's legendary fondness for the strong, bitter brew. She immediately liked the friendly young woman standing before her; she exuded a can-do attitude as well as an aura of cheerful decisiveness that Lauren found appealing.

"Sharon," continued Alexx, "Lauren has contributed a box of clothing for the Dress for Success drive. She left the box at the front desk with Billie."

"Super! We can use the clothing for sure. I'll take care of it, Alexx. Thanks, Lauren. You may not realize it, but you're making the lives of poor women a little better by helping them feel good about the way they look when they meet with potential employers. It gives them self-confidence, and that is so important. Few of these ladies have had much in their background that would build confidence in their lives." Using her index finger, Sharon once again pushed her eyeglasses back up the bridge of her nose, and looked at Lauren with earnest, light brown eyes. Her pleasant, pretty features wore an expression of kindly concern. "You should feel good about your contribution."

"Sharon, I'm going to give Lauren a tour of our facility and talk a bit about what we do, and buy her some lunch. Are you interested in joining us?"

"I'd love to, Alexx - there is nothing I like more than making people aware of the great things being done by PCFM in the community."

XXXXX

_Miles away on the campus of the Harvest Souls Congregation...  
_  
Frank saw the Hummer parked near the entrance to the huge edifice known as the Harvest Souls Congregation. Pulling up alongside the vehicle, he parked his car and got out and approached Horatio, who had been leaning against the other side of the Hummer. "Frank," he acknowledged, nodding a greeting at him.

"So, Horatio, what are we looking for here?" asked Frank, puzzled. "I ran a check on the operation yesterday and nothing definitive turned up."

"What we may be looking for, my friend, is murder. A young woman was found this morning at the Eden Roc Motel. Strangled."

Frank frowned. "Is that the dump out there in the 7700 block of Biscayne Boulevard?" Horatio nodded, and Frank looked at him quizzically. "Can't imagine the connection between a strangled vic and all of this," he said, indicating the huge church and expansive campus with a wave of his hand.

"Frank, that is what we are going to find out. A piece of paper was found in the victim's room that had the telephone number of the church on it ... and the letters BB and HSC."

"HSC would be Harvest Souls Congregation," said Frank thoughtfully. "And BB... hmm... Pastor Bobby, I'm guessing."

"And I'm 'guessing' you may be right. Let's go find out."

Walking toward the church, Frank whistled softly. "This is some set-up, Horatio. A lot of money went into all of this."

Horatio agreed as he took in the beautiful, manicured lawns, graceful trees, and flowering shrubbery. He made an internal inventory of the various buildings on the property. There appeared to be a community center, a building that housed the HSN Television Network, a theater/auditorium, and a gift store of some sort. But the centerpiece of the entire campus was the building that Horatio and Frank were approaching.

The large, imposing edifice that housed the Harvest Souls Congregation resembled a castle that a theme park fantasy land might boast. It flaunted a bluish gray stone exterior, and numerous tall, arched windows of brilliant stained glass. Upon entering the front of the church, Frank and Horatio found themselves in a large atrium chamber that featured an impressive reception area. An oversized, burnished mahogany desk at which a receptionist sat greeted them, and the desk's immense surface was inlaid with Italian marble that displayed veins of beige running through the aged stone. Behind the desk was a large arched wall made of the same marble, and a stream of water trickled down its front, creating a soothing, rhythmic sound that echoed in the vast space of the high ceilinged chamber.

Looking upward, Horatio noted the atrium's ceiling was also made of stained-glass. The glass illustrated the parable of the workers in the field, harvesting wheat. Quietly nudging Frank to look upward, he commented softly, "Ah... the old Bible story of the threshers, busily harvesting souls for the Kingdom. How apropos."

Frank looked at Horatio with puzzlement. "You know this stuff?"

"Of course, Frank. Didn't you ever attend Sunday school as a child?" asked the Lieutenant.

"Well, sure. My parents made my brothers and me go... but we generally horsed around, teasing the girls. Can't say any of it stayed with me."

"For shame, Francis," replied Horatio drily, a small smile on his face.

They moved forward to speak to the female receptionist whose body had been turned away from them while she looked for a file within a locked, mahogany credenza behind her desk. Hearing Horatio clear his throat for attention, she turned to face the men inquiringly.

Puzzled by Frank's sharp in-take of breath, Horatio looked quickly at his friend whose face was registering astonished surprise. "Frank," he asked his companion urgently, "is something wrong?"

Frank didn't seem to hear Horatio's question. His attention was elsewhere... for sitting there before them, wearing an equal look of astonishment, was the very pretty Lucy Price.

XXXXX

_Lunch at Antonio's Italian Grill near PCFM's offices...  
_  
"Well, Lauren," inquired Alexx with a smile, "so what do you think of our 'little' operation?"

Setting down her iced tea on the table, Lauren looked at the expectant faces of Alexx and Sharon, and grinned. "What do I think? I think it's terrific! Honestly, I had no idea how much work PCFM did for the community.

"It must cost a great deal of money to finance all of the services provided. How do you do it?" she asked.

Looking seriously at Lauren, Alexx replied, "It isn't easy. We've been able to continue our services and expand them in some areas thanks to the generosity of our donors and the hard work of our volunteers and employees. But it's a challenge, especially now. When the economy slows, more people need services... and that is often at the same time that donors are facing their own economic challenges. Still, we've been fortunate. Especially in terms of our Director of Communications who has been very effective in establishing a rapport with businesses and wealthy individuals who are seeking opportunities to support charitable endeavors."

At that point, Sharon Eriksen looked at her watch and made a small noise of disappointment. "Oh! Where did the time go? Alexx, I have to get back to the office to set up for Gene's videotaping session." Standing up, she reached out for Lauren's hand and shook it. "Lauren, I enjoyed meeting you. I hope you enjoyed the tour. And I hope you won't be a stranger now that you've met us!"

Walking behind Lauren on her way out, Sharon smiled enthusiastically at Alexx and unobtrusively gave her the 'thumbs up' sign as she departed.

As their waiter cleared the luncheon plates from their table, Alexx studied Lauren intently. Finally, she spoke what had been on her mind for the last two weeks. "Lauren, have you decided what you're going to do now that your position with the Mayor's office is terminated?"

Sighing, Lauren looked at Alexx with a worried expression. "Well, I need to find work, Alexx. I've met with a head-hunter who agreed to set up some interviews for me. The fact that I won't relocate makes it more challenging."

Alexx smiled. "So, you're intent on staying in Miami, then?"

Lauren wasn't aware of it, but Alexx noted the sweet, tender smile that touched her lips and the warm, misty look that emerged from the depths of her pretty eyes as Lauren said softly, "How could I leave, Alexx? My heart would always be here... with him."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Lauren," said Alexx lightly. "Horatio was a bear while you were gone. Came over to my house for a barbecue one weekend, and practically bit my head off when I asked him when you'd be returning. He loves you, you know."

Emotionally, Lauren replied, "And I love him, too, Alexx... and as long as I know he loves me, nothing - and no one! - is going to tear me away from Miami!

"But, Alexx, I am going crazy with boredom. And I'm worried about dipping into my savings if I don't find work in a reasonable amount of time."

Making up her mind to level with Lauren, Alexx quickly got to the point. "Lauren, I didn't just ask you to meet me here today to collect clothing and have lunch. I wanted you to see a bit of our operation so you could think seriously about something very important."

Lauren looked at her friend inquiringly. "I don't understand, Alexx. What's so important?"

"Well, you need a job... and we need a new Director of Communications since our current Director has accepted a job in New York.

"So, sugar, are you interested?"

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven - Confrontations

_The lobby and offices of Harvest Souls Congregation...  
_  
Ignoring the questioning look Horatio was directing his way, Frank regarded Lucy Price intently. "We'd like to see Reverend Braxton, please."

Lucy had never thought to see Frank Tripp again. To suddenly find him standing in front of her and displaying none of the friendliness he showed at their last meeting both startled and upset her. The police officer was all business at the moment. Not quite meeting his eyes, she replied hesitantly, "I'm sorry, Officer Tripp, but Pastor Braxton is in a meeting at the moment. Actually, he has a full complement of meetings for the day. Perhaps I can make an appointment for you? I'm afraid he never sees anyone without an appointment."

Nonplussed by Lucy's use of Frank's name, Horatio glanced Frank's way once again and raised his brow questioningly. Feeling uncomfortable, Frank refused to meet his friend's eyes, instead staring at the veined marble topping Lucy's desk. Abruptly, Horatio unclipped his badge from his waist and laid it firmly on the desk in front of Lucy.

"Ma'am, this is police business. He certainly will see us without an appointment. I suggest that you inform the Reverend that Lieutenant Caine and Detective Tripp of the MDPD require a few moments of his time. Now, please."

"Lieutenant, I have instructions from Pastor Braxton never to disturb him when..."

Frank suddenly leaned forward and put both hands on Lucy's desk and looked her in the eye. With cool authority, he interrupted the flow of weak excuses she offered. "Miss Price, we are not asking you to interrupt him; we're telling you to do so. The blame will lie with us. Now, please, let Braxton know we're here."

Lucy turned pale and she quickly picked up the phone and pressed the intercom key, advising of the officers' presence. Terminating the connection, she directed them toward the sitting area, assuring them the Pastor would be with them momentarily.

Frank and Horatio took seats on the other side of the lobby where several chocolate brown leather chairs were grouped around an oblong shaped coffee table that was also inlaid with marble. Artfully scattered about the table's surface was literature about the church, its mission, and pledge cards. Curious about Frank's connection to the receptionist, Horatio turned to Frank and inquired, "Who is she, Frank?"

Frank glanced Lucy's way, accidentally catching her eye, and he watched as she rapidly lowered her lovely green eyes in confusion. "Her name is Lucy Price. I met her last week at my mother's place."

"So, she is a friend of your mother's?"

"No, just someone I talked to in the parking lot. ...Pretty, isn't she?"

Horatio studied the attractive woman. "She is. Didn't seem, though, that the two of you are very friendly... Problems?"

Frank rubbed his hand across his forehead and laughed ruefully, "Yeah... If you think hating cops is a problem. We were having a friendly conversation, she seemed to be enjoying herself... I was trying to think of a way to ask her out. Then she found out I was a cop and she turned cold and icy on me. You know how it is, Horatio; it happens."

"Hmm," Horatio agreed. "It happens. But, Frank, when you were leaning over her back there, it wasn't dislike I saw... I think it was fear."

Surprised by that observation, Frank looked Lucy's way again. Studying her, he was forced to agree with Horatio's assessment. She _did_ look frightened... And pale. But why? Had he seemed so threatening a few moments ago?

"Horatio, did I come across as rough when I told her to interrupt Braxton?"

"It didn't seem so to me. You were no-nonsense, but not overly forceful." Horatio smiled. "I've seen you when you want to intimidate someone; you were positively a teddy bear just now."

"Yeah, right," replied Frank, uncomfortably. "I'm being serious, Horatio."

"Frank, you were fine. But something is upsetting the lady, and I don't think it is just your being a policeman."

Before Frank could reply, a door near Lucy opened and a tall and deeply tanned, attractive man with dark brown eyes, blond hair and a closely clipped mustache appeared. Broad-shouldered and dressed in an expensive gray suit, crisp white shirt and burgundy silk tie, he appeared to be in his mid forties. He was all brisk self-confidence and business as he purposefully strode toward Horatio and Frank.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them in a deep, pleasant voice that held just a hint of the South in it, "I'm Bradley Quaid. Won't you come with me, please?"

Horatio's eyes narrowed in speculation as he and Frank followed Quaid past the door near Lucy, and down a hallway leading to an expensive suite of offices. _So this is Quaid_, thought Horatio, as he determined he would find a way to discuss Julia with him.

Entering the suite, they saw Bobby Braxton rise from behind a large, ornately carved desk and approach them. "Officers," he said, smiling genially and pointing to a sitting area, "Won't you have a seat, please?"

Taking the proffered seat, Frank sized Braxton up and didn't much like what he saw. _Looks like a strutting peacock_, thought Frank as he took in the pastor's dandified black suit, black shirt and black tie. The thick Elvis-type hair and the unctuous smile Braxton gave both he and Horatio added to Frank's feelings of dislike and suspicion. _The preacher man in black_, Frank thought contemptuously. Suddenly, an old pop tune by Neil Diamond from years ago popped into Frank's head. The old song was called "Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show" and detailed the exploits of an opportunistic preacher. Frank couldn't help grinning as he recalled the song's lyrics while surveying Bobby Braxton.

"Gentlemen," said the Reverend, "so what can I do for the Miami-Dade Police Department? Are you selling raffle tickets for the Policeman's Carnival?"

Said jovially and with just the right amount of sarcasm beneath the surface to let Horatio know he was being ridiculed, the man continued to offer Horatio a congenial smile. Hearing a soft chuckle, Horatio looked over to where Bradley Quaid was leaning against the desk. Quaid's eyes were fixed on his wrists as his fingers played with a pair of heavy gold cuff links in the shape of crosses, each sporting a red ruby at its center. As Quaid adjusted the cuffs, a small smile played about his lips.

Offering a sardonic smile of his own, Horatio turned his attention back to Braxton and mildly replied, "I'm sure if we were selling tickets, Pastor, we could put you down for a sizable purchase... after all, this is quite the operation you've got here."

Horatio briefly glanced around the large room, taking in the expensive dark wood furniture, the plush scarlet couches and wing chairs, and the heavy velvet curtains also a deep scarlet color and held back on either side by thickly woven gold cords with fringe. Several valuable oriental rugs with gold, cream and burgundy patterns threw bright splashes of color on the dark wood-planked floors. It was a room that had been designed, like the rest of the Harvest Souls campus, to signify wealth. "I suppose the business of rescuing the spiritually lost is a lucrative one, hmm?"

Smiling broadly, Braxton replied, "The Lord rewards those who tend his harvest, Brother."

"And very well, it would seem." Looking Quaid's way again, Horatio added, "Nice cuff links, Mr. Quaid."

Quaid smiled and held out his wrists for Horatio's inspection. "Like those, do you? Eighteen carat gold and hand-made just for me."

"Really? Hand-made jewelry must make quite a dent in the collection plate."

"You misunderstand, Lieutenant. These were made for me as a gift from a lady friend... a parishioner of this church. A lovely woman." A sly look snaked across Quaid's face briefly; he knew who Horatio was, and he couldn't resist the opportunity to make an oblique reference to Julia. Julia had certainly told him enough about her former lover and his job with the MDPD to make him instantly recognizable to Quaid.

Horatio had caught the momentary slyness on Quaid's face, but it quickly passed, and the attractive face once again assumed its previous expression of helpful geniality.

"Brother," continued Braxton silkily, "what is so important that you compelled me to interrupt my church business?"

"Murder an important enough reason for you?" asked Frank.

Quaid looked at Frank disbelievingly. "Murder? I don't know what sort of connection Harvest Souls could have with a murder, Detective."

Horatio pulled a cellophane baggie from his pocket that contained the dead girl's license. Holding it before the men for their perusal, he asked "Have either of you ever seen this young woman before?"

Braxton shook his head no, and Quaid replied, "I've never seen her. Who is she?"

"Gentleman, this is Miss Savannah Ralston of Jacob's Creek, Georgia. Miss Ralston was found dead in a motel room on Biscayne Boulevard this morning."

Quaid's brows drew together as he frowned. "So, what does that have to do with us?"

"What it has to do with you," said Horatio smoothly, "is that the telephone number of this church was found written on a pad near the bed. Next to the number were the letters **BB** and **HSC**."

Quaid waved his left hand dismissively. "Is that all? So she had the number of the church - what does that mean? A lot of people have the church's telephone number."

Braxton concurred. "Brother Quaid is correct. Many lost souls seeking comfort find us through the grace of God. They call us, hoping to speak to one of our counselors, or make an appointment to come in and talk with our staff. Perhaps Miss Ralston was one of those."

"Reverend," interrupted Frank, "you got any counselors with the initials "BB?" We were kinda thinking "BB" stood for Bobby Braxton..."

Braxton shrugged his shoulders. "And what if they do? A troubled soul catches our television ministry, thinks God is directing her to try to contact me, writes down my initials next to our telephone number, which is always being flashed on the screen during the show... I see nothing suspicious about that, Brother. Are you certain it was murder? Could it have been suicide?"

Irritated by Braxton's repetitive use of the word "brother," Frank snapped at him. "Look, 'Bro,' unless she was able to strangle herself and then dump herself in a bathtub, we're pretty certain it was murder."

From there, the conversation continued to go downhill until Quaid said, "Gentlemen, I think you're done here. We've told you that neither of us know this woman, nor have we ever spoken with her."

Horatio looked hard at Quaid and replied, "Then we're certain you won't have any objections to our reviewing your church's telephone logs - correct?"

"Knock yourself out, Lieutenant," Quaid replied, smiling. "I doubt you'll find anything though."

"Brother Quaid, would you see the Lieutenant and Detective Tripp out, please," Braxton requested. "I hope you find out who hurt that girl, gentlemen. I'll pray that you do."

"Yeah, you do that," Frank replied sarcastically.

As they left the Pastor's suite of offices and began to walk down the hallway leading back to the lobby, Horatio paused and turned to Quaid. "I would like to have a word with you in private... About Julia Winston. Frank, I'll meet up with you outside."

Frank nodded, leaving Horatio and Bradley Quaid staring intently at one another.

XXXXX

While Horatio stayed behind to speak with Quaid, Frank walked out into the lobby and saw a troubled Lucy Price with her head bowed and her hands covering her face. An older woman stood near, softly murmuring to the distraught receptionist, trying to calm her.

Quickly, he approached the two women. "Miss Price? What's wrong?" Lucy slowly looked up as if in a daze, allowing her hands to drop from her face and fall into her lap. Her complexion was drained of color, and she began to violently tremble. Frank noticed her large green eyes were unfocused, and that her mouth had fallen slightly open. In short, she looked terrified.

Slowly, Frank removed his jacket and began to speak quietly to her. "Lucy? Can you hear me, honey?" He reached behind her to drape the jacket about her shoulders and froze when she suddenly flinched, trying to avoid his touch.

"Hey, it's okay," he said soothingly. "I'm not going to hurt you. You're shaking... This will help you to keep warm. Everything is going to be okay... Try to relax." She sat stiffly while Frank continued to gently place the jacket over her shoulders. Looking at the woman standing nearby, he asked her to fetch a glass of water. Quickly she complied, handing the glass to him.

Kneeling down on one knee so that he was at eye level with her, he handed Lucy the water. "There, now... I want you to drink some of this water... Slowly... That's good... A little more, please." He watched Lucy's trembling hands try to hold the water steady as she took a few sips. He stood up and faced the good Samaritan next to him.

"Ma'am, what happened here?" he asked softly.

"I'm not quite sure, Officer. Lucy and I work together... I stopped by to chat for a moment, and she was just sitting there, staring at the phone. She was so pale and frightened. I couldn't get anything out of her. Is she okay?"

"I think she's in shock," said Frank, frowning. "And I think she needs to go home."

Kneeling down again, Frank took the still full glass from her trembling hands. "Lucy, look at me, please..."

Slowly, Lucy seemed to come to her self again, her thoughts pulling back from some distant, frightening place. Trying not to alarm her, Frank slowly took her two cold hands in his, and gently chafed them, trying to bring the warmth back into them. "Can you tell me what happened, honey?"

Lucy looked over toward the phone, and choked out, "The phone... the phone... he... OHHH!" As she began to tell Frank about the phone, it suddenly began to ring, and Lucy shrank from contact with it. Seeing her increasing agitation, Frank reached past her and picked it up.

For a moment, all he heard was an odd, ominous silence and then some light breathing... Finally, malevolently, a cajoling, eerily seductive voice began speaking. "You shouldn't have hung up on me just now, Lucy... You haven't changed, have you? Still my bad girl, always playing games... Well, maybe I have a little game for you. Want to play a game with me, Luce? A little hide and seek? Tell you what - you hide, and I'll come find you. And when I do... I'll have something really special for you. That's a promise."

"Who the hell is this?" asked Frank, angrily.

When the only response to his question was silence, Frank grew angrier. "Look, nut job, this is Frank Tripp of the Miami-Dade Police Department. You call this number again or bother Miss Price again, and you'll be playing hide and seek with ME - and you won't like the little surprise I'll have for you. You got that, pal?"

Suddenly, the phone connection was severed, and Frank found himself listening to a dial tone.

Hanging up the phone, he turned to face Lucy, who was silently crying. "Has this happened before, Lucy?"

Unable to speak, she nodded yes.

"Do you know who this creep is?"

"Yes," she answered unsteadily. "He's my husband... and he's crazy."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight - Heart-To-Heart Conversations

Horatio sat in his car, quickly making some notes on his iPad, summarizing his impressions of the Harvest Souls operation as well as the two men he had just spoken with. Pausing to stare sightlessly out the car's windshield, he thought back on his conversation with Quaid after Frank had left the two men alone.

XXXXX

Wasting no time, Horatio had gotten straight to the point. "Mr. Quaid, I understand that you're seeing Julia Winston."

Quaid considered the serious man standing before him. "That's so, Lieutenant. Julia and I have been seeing one another about a month now. She's a beautiful woman, inside and out. She's become very important to me."

Horatio looked less than convinced and replied, "I'm glad to hear you say that because Julia has been used by men in the past - it is not something I want to see repeated."

With a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, Quaid coolly remarked, "Julia has told me about you, Lieutenant, and about your son in Afghanistan."

"Well, then, I'm sure that she has also told you that where my family is concerned, I have a reputation for being protective. Very protective."

"Is that a threat of some sort, Lieutenant?" Quaid dropped the smile, and the cultivated voice and manner he'd adopted disappeared. With fascination, Horatio noted that what had been only a slight Southern undertone in Quaid's speech suddenly took dominance in his voice. "I wasn't aware that Julia was your 'family.'"

"She is my son's mother - and I take that connection very seriously. So you can consider this fair warning: don't play games with Julia. Because I promise you - I will be watching."

While listening to Horatio's words, Quaid's mouth had turned down at the corners and a hard look came into his eyes; within seconds, however, his expression cleared, and he faced Horatio with his genial mask back in place. The heavy Southern accent disappeared, and he spoke to Horatio in a pleasant, cultured voice. "I'll take that warning from you as friendly advice. I understand all about family - and the desire to protect them. So, I think we have reached an understanding."

He had opened the door to allow Horatio to walk through to the lobby, but Horatio had paused before proceeding. "Mr. Quaid, that is quite a Southern accent you have..."

Quaid visibly swallowed his irritation. "I have worked very hard to overcome it. Family legacy. I am surprised it is still recognizable."

Horatio said nothing, and walked through the door.

XXXXX

Horatio grimaced as he thought back on the conversation. Putting aside the iPad, he started his car and headed home. Forty-five minutes later, he was turning down the street toward his house, and was surprised to see a cherry red BMW convertible sitting in his driveway. Horatio hadn't expected to see Lauren that evening, and his mood lightened. Maybe they'd take a walk on the beach, and then have drinks at the little Key West-themed bar she liked that overlooked the water. A walk on the beach would be nice; he could certainly use a break.

He was still troubled by Frank's quick departure from the church. After his conversation with Quaid, he looked for Frank in the lobby and was surprised to learn from an unknown woman sitting at the receptionist's desk that Frank had left... and that Lucy Price had been in his company. _What could that have been about? _wondered Horatio. He knew Frank took his duties seriously and so there must have been a good reason that Frank didn't wait for him.

Horatio sighed. And then there was Lauren. He'd been worried about her since she'd returned to Miami.

The discovery of the offer letter from the U.S. Senator's office had put a damper on Horatio's happiness over her return. He would have expected her to make him aware that she was considering a job as significant as that one... the fact that she hadn't said anything worried him. Was she afraid to tell him that she wanted the job?

And then, last evening when he'd returned from Julia's house, he called her, needing to hear her voice after dealing with the mercurial Julia. He knew she was genuinely glad to hear from him, but she had sounded rather 'off' – as if something had upset her. When he asked her if anything was wrong, she was quick to assure him that all was well, that she was just tired.

He pulled up alongside the BMW, and went inside the house. He could hear singing coming from his kitchen, and so he wandered in there. He had to smile at the sight that greeted him: Lauren had her iPod ear buds in as she was standing in front of the sink, rinsing and cutting up strawberries, her hips swaying gently. Her back was toward him, and his eyes lingered appreciatively on the short hot pink skirt she wore, the long bare legs, and the lacy halter top that was tied in a knot at the small of her back. Her long blond hair was tied up in a ponytail and bounced back and forth in time with the music that only she could hear. Unaware of his presence, she was singing along to the tune on the iPod, and while Horatio couldn't hear the music, he recognized the song immediately as she happily sang the lyrics:

_I've got the world on a string, I'm sittin' on a rainbow  
Got the string around my finger  
What a world, what a life, I'm in love!  
I've got a song that I sing,  
I can make the rain go  
Anytime I move my finger, lucky me!  
Can't you see, I'm in love.  
Life is a beautiful thing  
As long as I hold the string.  
I'd be a silly so and so,  
If I should ever let go  
I've got the world on a string  
Sittin' on a rainbow  
Got the string around my finger  
What a world, what a life, I'm in love!_

Quietly walking up behind her, he restrained the hips that had been moving to the melody she heard by enfolding her in his arms, and locking his hands in front of her waist. Tilting his head, he kissed her on the side of her neck. Lauren started for a moment, but then suddenly laughed and relaxed in the familiar arms that encircled her. Removing the buds from her ears, she said, "Welcome home, Lieutenant!"

"Thank you," he said, continuing to lightly kiss the side of her neck. "This is a surprise."

"But a pleasant one, I hope," she replied, turning in his arms to look at him.

"Always." Surveying the strawberries, he reached past her to grab one and popped it into his mouth. "So, what is all this? Had the urge to cook, did you?"

Horatio's heart was lightened by the dancing, happy light in Lauren's eyes; she was clearly pleased about something, and his curiosity was engaged.

"You know, I absolutely did have the urge to cook today. How does this menu sound to you? A salad with oranges, strawberries and a vanilla vinaigrette, followed by New Orleans-style crab cakes, some wonderful asparagus, and - the _pièce de résistance!_- spiced triple berry shortcakes with whipped cream topping! As I recall, Lieutenant, you like whipped cream… very, very much…"

Horatio, delighting in her happy mood, tilted his head, raised an eyebrow and smiled devilishly at her. "Yes ma'am, I do… but, as I remember it, not necessarily on berry shortcakes…"

"Well, I'm all for improvisation, sir…," she said teasingly. Looking closely at her sweet man, she continued, "You look tired, Horatio. Why don't you take a shower while I finish pulling the last of the ingredients together. I've a bottle of Pinot gris chilling in the 'fridge; when you come out, you can pour us each a glass. …There is something I want to discuss with you."

"And what would that be?"

"A job offer I've received! Oh, Horatio, wait til you hear! It's so exciting!"

Lauren continued to bubble over with enthusiasm until she noticed that Horatio had gotten very still. Confused, she began to let her words die down, and she noticed that her lover's formerly teasing expression had changed into something… sad? _Is he sad? _she wondered. But why? Why wouldn't he be happy for her? It made no sense.

"Horatio? Is something wrong?" she asked tentatively.

He looked at her for a moment, and then just shook his head. "No. Nothing's wrong. That's… great news, Lauren." He dropped his arms, releasing her from his embrace. "I think I'll take that shower. When I come back, you can tell me about your new job." With that, he turned toward his bedroom, leaving Lauren feeling perplexed… and worried.

XXXXX

Frank was looking intently at Lucy Price. Her color had improved, and the trembling had finally ceased. Motioning to the waitress at the little coffee shop not too far from the Harvest Souls campus, he ordered two more cups of coffee and two chicken salad sandwiches. Lucy was about to demur when Frank stopped her. "You need to eat, Lucy. You've just had a terrible shock. I want to see you eat at least half that sandwich."

Lucy's big green eyes looked at Frank. She was still not sure what to make of this take-charge individual who had so decisively come to her aid. Her instinct was to trust him. He had a gruff exterior, but she sensed the kindness beneath the toughness. Still, she had been so horribly wrong about Jerry... and she recalled miserably how cops look out for their own. Still, something brave deep within her said that she might consider trusting this man.

After taking a sip of the hot coffee, Frank slowly placed the mug on the table. "Lucy, tell me about this guy. Let me help you. So... You're still married?"

Taking a deep breath, Lucy nodded. "I left Jerry two years ago. We... had a fight. It got... scary. I didn't know what to do, where to go. There was no one I could turn to. While he was at work, I just left. I called a cab, went to the bus terminal and caught a bus out of town. The first destination available was Miami; and that is how I came to live here."

"What about the uncle at the seniors complex?"

"Uncle John. He was my mother's uncle. I was always a favorite of his. I knew I could trust him. When I came to Miami, I looked him up. You see, I was so lonely! I knew no one. I miss him."

"Do your parents know you're here?"

Lucy hesitated, and Frank watched as her eyes teared up. "I'm so stupid," she said, her voice filled with disgust. "When Uncle John died, I contacted my mother to let her know. She... she must have given my number to Jerry! Until then, I hadn't heard from him."

"But why would she do that, Lucy? She's your mother. Didn't she know how he treated you?"

"Jerry is a cop with the Orange County Sheriff's Department in Orlando. Neither she nor Dad believed that Jerry hurt me... Mamma, in particular, thought it was me. They didn't think I was a good wife. They loved him. Thought he was so responsible and charming, so handsome, so... caring."

Frank said nothing for a minute, and bit into the sandwich the waitress had delivered. Pointing toward Lucy's own untouched sandwich, he said, "Eat."

Watching her reluctantly pick up the sandwich and nibble on it unenthusiastically, Frank wondered about her husband's employer.

"Lucy, did you ever try to contact his boss at the Sheriff's Department?"

Lucy looked at him in horror. "Good Lord, no! Jerry would have killed me! He loves that job. It makes him feel important to walk around, dressed in his uniform, flashing his badge."

Frank nodded. He had seen too many of these tin gods in his years on the force - in love with their authority and little else.

"Besides, I knew there was no support to be found there," Lucy continued. "We were once at a gathering in Disney World - they have an annual night in which they honor the local law enforcement people. Jerry was upset with me because... well, he wanted children and I hadn't yet conceived. And here we were, surrounded by all his peers, with their spouses and children... anyway, he was in a terrible mood. We were about to step onto the platform of one of the moving attractions and... he purposely tripped me. I went down quickly and turned my ankle. He started berating me for my clumsiness, and telling the officers nearby what a clumsy girl I was, always accident prone. His fellow officers didn't seem to notice what he'd done to me, and thought it was funny, and they all enjoyed the joke. Later, when we arrived home, Jerry kept me up all night, yelling about my stupidity... and my inability to do something any animal could do... get pregnant. He started throwing things around... And then he... Well, he yanked my arm out of its socket."

Lucy suddenly stopped speaking, her eyes welling up at the memory. "The violence escalated the last few months we were together," she finally said. "I'm afraid of him."

Frank could see that. And he was angry that anyone could treat Lucy the way this creep had. Frank was not looking for a complicated relationship. All he wanted was a pretty woman to share a few laughs with, some good times, some nice evenings. He wasn't interested in trouble. And yet, staring at the sad, beautiful brunette, his heart experienced a small jolt that it hadn't felt in many years.

"Lucy, you're no longer alone. And you don't have to face this by yourself. Let me take care of this guy for you. Now, eat that sandwich," he said kindly.

She wasn't sure why, but Lucy liked the tall, balding Texan, and decided she could trust him. She gave him a nervous smile, and bit into her sandwich.

XXXXX

Lauren had made an excellent dinner and was clearing away the dishes as Horatio stood at the railing on the back porch. It was a nice evening with the sweet, tangy scent of sea salt in the air. The warm breeze played lightly with the red tousled hair on his forehead, as if sensing his unsettled heart and desiring to offer comfort in some way.

Horatio's hands gripped the porch railing in frustration. He had managed to put aside Lauren's desire to discuss her new job until after dinner. He really didn't want to hear that she'd accepted a position in Washington, no matter how good it was. But what could he do or say?

Lauren stepped out onto the porch with the wine bottle in hand. "Hey, Lieutenant, you have an empty glass there... the night is still young. Join me in a second?"

Lauren was deeply troubled. Horatio had been in such a strange mood all through dinner, at times emotionally distant and refusing to look at her... and then, suddenly, she'd see him staring at her with such sadness. She didn't know what to make of it. He had been in such a good mood when he found her in the kitchen. But as soon as she mentioned finding a new job, he turned... odd.

"Here, honey," she said, offering him the refilled glass, "come sit with me, and let's enjoy this lovely evening."

Horatio smiled, and taking the glass, he sat down beside her. He took a sip of the wine and placed it on the nearby table. Reaching his hands into her hair, he untied the ribbon that held the ponytail, and watched as the thick blond waves tumbled about her shoulders. "Pretty sight," he said, smiling sadly, and kissed her pretty mouth lightly.

"Horatio, what's wrong, love?" she asked softly.

He shook his head, and reached again for the wine glass. Looking out toward the ocean, he said quietly, "Tell me about your job offer."

Wondering why his question had all the joy of a death sentence, Lauren hesitated, but then began speaking. "It's a wonderful opportunity, Horatio - and one I hadn't expected! It's a chance to finally do something meaningful, to make a difference. I am thrilled to have this opportunity, and I've decided to take it!"

"Stop!" said Horatio suddenly, looking at Lauren with angry eyes.

She looked at him in surprise, but before she could ask any questions, he continued. "I don't understand you, Lauren. Have I misunderstood our relationship? Haven't I made it clear how I feel about you?"

Confused, Lauren replied, "What are you talking about, Horatio?"

"I don't want you to go, okay? I don't want you to take this job. At first, I thought I'd say nothing and gallantly step aside so you could pursue this... opportunity. But I can't do it. I'm too old to pretend this doesn't hurt, and too tired of loneliness to play the martyr. I have lost too many people important to me by being chivalrous. So here you have it, clean and simple - I don't want you to take the job. I want you here!"

Lauren watched in stunned surprise as Horatio grew angrier with each sentence. "Horatio, for God's sake, what are you talking about? I thought you'd be happy for me... for us!"

Horatio spat out, "Why would I be happy about your taking a job in Washington?" while Lauren, at the same time, said, "I thought you'd be happy I was taking a job in Miami!"

Equally surprised by one another's statements, they both fell silent for a moment.

Finally, Horatio said, "Miami? Your job offer is in Miami?"

"Well, yes... At PCFM. Alexx recommended me for a job there running their communications operation."

"Really?" Unexpectedly, a beautiful smile appeared on Horatio's face that made him look both boyish and appealing. He suddenly stood up and pulled Lauren into his arms. "Really?" he repeated, as if he weren't sure he'd heard correctly.

Lauren, seeing the sweet, shy smile on his face that she loved so much, began laughing in delight. "Yes! Really!"

She reached her hand out to tenderly smooth the wayward locks of red hair from his forehead, and then leaned in to kiss him passionately.

After a moment or two, she leaned back in his arms, smiling happily. "Now that is the reaction I'd hoped for, Lieutenant!" Horatio, thinking of the whipped cream sitting in the refrigerator, leaned in to kiss her once again, only to find a palm placed firmly against his chest, restraining him from any further advancement.

"I am curious, however, why you thought I was taking a job in Washington," Lauren remarked, searching his eyes.

Horatio hesitated, and Lauren was surprised to see color rise in his face. "Um, well," he began, uncomfortably, "I, uh… I sort of saw a letter to you from Cartwright's office."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine - Trusting Hearts

Lauren looked at Horatio in surprise. "You saw the letter from Senator Cartwright? But... how? When?" Lauren moved out of Horatio's embrace and sat down on one of the porch chairs, trying to think how Horatio might have come across the letter.

Looking sheepishly at her, he replied, "I saw it Sunday night... while you were speaking on the phone with your mother."

Lauren looked up at the adult man standing before her; his face had the look of a guilty ten year old. Try as she might, she couldn't quite suppress the smile that briefly flitted across her face at his mixed expression of guilt and defiance, and she reached for his hand, drawing him down to the chair next to hers. "Mister, you have some explaining to do," she said, not unkindly. "I don't recall leaving that letter just laying about for curious eyes."

"It was an accident, Lauren - I wasn't rifling among your things. I knocked some papers off the table near your laptop. When I went to retrieve them, I saw a letter had fallen out of a folder. The U.S. Senate stationery caught my eye... and I read it." Horatio reached for his wineglass, fingering the stem of it absently, too uncomfortable to meet Lauren's eyes. "I know I shouldn't have, but I... The truth is I was curious... I'm sorry."

Softly, he heard her say, "So you've known about the offer for several days and... just stewed about it? Why didn't you say something to me?"

"Why didn't _you _say something, Lauren?" he challenged. "Didn't you think I'd want to know you were considering a job out of town? How could you keep the offer from me?"

Lauren quietly looked at Horatio's profile as he stared out at the ocean. After a moment, she took the wineglass from his hand and sat it down. Taking his hand in both of hers, she said earnestly, "Horatio, look at me, honey." When he turned to face her, she saw the hurt in his eyes, and she realized he had misunderstood the situation.

"Horatio, I never told you about the offer because I never had any intention of taking the job. I only went on the interview as a favor to an old friend... and, well... to keep my father happy.

"If I had been the least bit interested in pursuing the job, I would have told you immediately. I meant to toss the letter, and now I regret that I didn't. Honey, I'm so terribly sorry you saw it and that it hurt you.

"Do you think I would have come back here, acting as if everything was fine, and then left you to live in Washington? Horatio, I would never play fast and loose with your feelings that way."

Horatio watched her closely as he listened to her words, and then said quietly, "I'm used to people going away, Lauren."

"I'm not going anywhere, Horatio," she said with a full heart.

"It's a great job...a chance to be near your family again... I was certain you'd take it."

Swiftly, Lauren slid out of the chair and knelt before him. She took the palm of his hand and laid it against her cheek, looking up at him with bright eyes. "My love," she said lightly, "you underestimate me. Let me repeat this, okay? I'm not going anywhere. Wherever you are is where I want to be. And as long as I know you want me with you, it's where I intend to be."

XXXXX

Frank drove up to the front of Lucy's small rental home, intent on checking out her place before he left her for the evening. As he looked around, he was glad he had made that decision. She lived in an old house which the landlord had decided to convert into a duplex. It had two front doors, side by side, one of which was the entrance to Lucy's part of the house.

The place had certainly seen better days, and Frank was dismayed to see that the windows on the first floor were not very secure. Several large trees and lots of old shrubbery had taken over the landscape's original design and now hid the house from the street and, to Frank's practiced view, made it vulnerable to break-in.

As they approached her front door, he asked her about her neighbors on the other side of the house.

"It's a husband and wife... not very friendly. They keep to themselves. I think they might have a drinking problem... a lot of bottles sometimes in the backyard," she replied.

_Great_, thought Frank unhappily, _no help from them if she needed protection._

Lucy unlocked the door, and Frank frowned. _Not even a dead bolt lock, _he thought with annoyance_, just a regular door lock. _"Lucy, you are way too trusting. You need a better lock on this door. I have a guy who can get this done for you - and quickly. I'll leave his number."

She knew he was right about the lock. "I'll call him tomorrow, Frank."

"I don't mean to intrude, but I'd feel a lot better if you'd let me take a quick look inside. I want to see what you need in terms of security." Frank paused, once more looking critically at the yard. "The first thing I can think of is contacting your landlord and having him clear away some of these old bushes and trees from around the house. All this stuff makes it too easy for a would-be perp to break into the house with no one being the wiser."

Following Frank inside, Lucy replied, "I'll try to reach him tomorrow."

"Is he pretty reasonable? Willing to do things around here?"

Sighing, she shook her head. "Actually, he's not. But… the rent is good."

"It's not all that good if you're vulnerable. Leave him to me; landlords have a way of responding when the police are involved."

Lucy smiled gratefully behind Frank's back as he surveyed her home. She was starting to feel better than she had in several days. It was nice to have someone care about her well-being; she wasn't sure she'd really ever experienced that before. She watched as he checked the windows on the first floor. "We'll get some better locks on these, too. You could also use a security system that you'd turn on when you go to sleep at night… or when you're out during the day."

She frowned momentarily, worried about the cost. "Isn't that expensive?"

"Lucy, it works out to about a buck or a buck and a half a day… money well spent if it keeps you safe."

She nodded in agreement, and followed him up the stairs to the second floor where two small bedrooms and a bathroom were located. The first bedroom was little more of a glorified closet, and Lucy used it as such. Frank then walked into the bathroom and stopped. He noticed the window was ajar several inches. He found this odd since thus far all the other windows in the house had been closed. Stopping Lucy from entering the small room, he asked, "Lucy, do you generally leave the bathroom window open?"

"No, I close all the windows when I leave the house."

"You're sure? Even today?"

"Yes. Since the first call from Jerry, I lock everything up."

"Okay." Frank glanced toward the remaining bedroom, and his adrenaline went on high alert. Looking directly into Lucy's eyes, and speaking quietly and firmly, he said, "I want you to listen to me now. As quickly and as quietly as you can, turn around and go down the stairs and outside the house. Go sit in my car and lock the doors."

"Frank?" she whispered, alarmed at both his look and tone.

"Now, Lucy," he whispered urgently, "go NOW!" She quickly did as he instructed, and Frank slowly reached for the gun hidden beneath his coat jacket. When he was certain Lucy was out of the house, he walked cautiously toward the remaining bedroom.

The door was half closed. Frank slowly edged around its side, both hands grasping the weapon which was pointing outward toward anything that might be lurking around the corner. Something on the bed caught his eye, but he ignored it, and then saw the flashing light of Lucy's answering machine on the nightstand. Still, he continued to move carefully, purposefully, around the room, checking the tiny closet as well as looking beneath the bed. He saw the bedroom window was open, and the curtains were billowing softly in the slight breeze entering the room.

Satisfied that no one was presently inside the house, Frank holstered his weapon. He now looked at Lucy's bed, and felt a chill. The bedclothes were shredded and two feather pillows were gutted, leaving a haphazard carpet of fluffy, white softness on the hardwood floor near the bed. Centered on the messy, shredded coverlet were two dolls. Frank recognized them easily, remembering them from his girls' childhood toy collection: _Barbie and Ken..._

The head of the female doll had been hacked off, and the male doll, dressed in a police officer's costume, had a tiny gun laying near its hand. _What the hell? _Frank wondered.

Pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he walked toward the answering machine, and using the square of cloth, he carefully pushed the button marked PLAY. The flesh on his arms began to crawl as he listened to the disturbing voice echo in the silence of the small room.

"Hey, hey! Game time, Lucy! Now here's how it works... you hide, and I'll seek. Here I come! Am I getting warm, babe? Am I so hot that you can feel my breath on the back of your pretty neck? ...and such a pretty neck it is... small and delicate... sweetly delicate."

Chilling laughter issued from the machine, and then a moment of silence. Finally, quietly, the eerie, warm voice continued. "You were so easy to find, Lucy. You're going to have to do better than this." An exaggerated sigh filled the room.

"You're such a bad girl, Lucy. Always with the games. And now you've got yourself a playmate, huh? Another cop... How... original of you. He won't save you, babe. You're mine. And I'm coming for you. And then we'll play a really... fun... game."

Frank listened as the message clicked off. _Sick bastard_, he thought, more concerned for Lucy's safety than ever. Pulling out his cell phone, he placed a call to the MDPD to have the room processed.

The room was starting to darken as the late afternoon gave way to dusk, and Frank turned to leave and check on Lucy. As he did so, he felt something crunch beneath his foot. Looking down, he saw it was the doll's dark, curly-haired head.

XXXXX

After Lauren's heartfelt declaration to Horatio, she had somehow wound up on his lap, and his head was nuzzled deep into her neck. The truth was that Horatio was momentarily overcome by her words and by the look in her eyes.

Buried deep within Horatio, a small, vulnerable child still existed - the child who had grown up in a chaotic house where love was never assured, and where trust was tenuous. This was a part of himself that few ever glimpsed; possibly Yelina had come closest, knowing fully his back story since she'd been married to his brother.

It often seemed to him that in his personal relationships, he was always waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. He remembered as a kid forever wondering what sort of mood his father would be in. There were days - great days - when his dad would be so much fun and so loving to he and Raymond; and then that 'shoe would drop,' and the old man would fly into a rage over something inconsequential and slap his mother, or push he and his brother around... or worse.

And so often, as a confused boy, he'd wonder, _Is it me? Is it my fault? Was I bad? Wasn't I good enough? _And he'd resolve to try harder the next time so that his father's good days would last longer.

Trusting that love wouldn't disappear, that it could be depended upon, relied upon... even after all these years... Well, it was a hard concept for this man, so often disappointed, to grasp.

Lauren said nothing for several moments, just held him close, and watched the shadows lengthen in the disappearing day. After some time, Horatio raised his head and smiled at her. "So... you went on the interview to make your father 'happy?' Does he know you're staying in Miami?"

"Hmm, he does."

"How did he take the news?"

Sighing, Lauren shook her head. "Not very well, I'm afraid. Horatio, he isn't a very big fan of yours... the truth is, he misses having me near.

"He wasn't particularly happy when I first took the job with the Mayor's office. When things fell apart there, he felt badly for me... but on a certain level, I think he was also a little bit glad. I think he thought I'd now return home, and he'd have the entire family together again. We have blue collar roots, Horatio; families in our part of town are born there and die there. It's a generational thing."

"Well, I'm sorry for him, but glad for me... I hope he will forgive me for keeping his daughter here."

"Well, you can ask him yourself... In a few weeks, he and mother are coming to visit."

Horatio looked startled, and Lauren laughed softly. "Don't look so stricken! He's anxious to meet you, and you haven't exactly been enthusiastic about visiting Baltimore with me."

Horatio didn't know what to say to that. "Lauren, are you sure about this? Maybe we should give your father some time to get used to the idea you are not going back to Baltimore."

"Don't be silly," she said, kissing him on the lips and then standing up. "Just the other night Pop said he wanted to meet you soon... He said, 'If the mountain won't come to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain.' Don't worry about him, Horatio. My mother will handle him."

_That doesn't sound particularly encouraging, _thought Horatio.

Lauren had gone ahead into the house and suddenly she called out to him. "Horatio, I just heard your fax machine start up... You must be getting something."

He walked into the house and through the living room to the small work area in a back bedroom. Walking over to the fax machine, he saw the device spitting out several photographs of Savannah Ralston as well as a brief bio.

Lauren had come into the room to stand behind him. "What is it?"

Horatio looked at the information in his hands. "A young woman who was found murdered in a motel room this morning."

"Oh, poor girl! She's so pretty... how could anyone hurt such a lovely young girl?"

Grimly, he replied, "That is what I intend to find out."

XXXXX

Frank and Lucy drove away from the police cars and lights surrounding Lucy's house as the police continued investigating what had occurred. Frank had told them that Jerry Price of the Orange County Sheriff's Office was likely the perpetrator - and that it was his voice on the answering machine. An APB was issued for Officer Price.

Leaving the scene behind them, Frank glanced Lucy's way. He could see she was frightened and wondered what she was thinking about.

The terrified Lucy was quietly thinking about those shredded bed clothes and wondering what Frank had left out of his reporting of the events to her. He had told her there was a message on the phone from Jerry, but nothing else.

Knowing she had no friends or relatives she could go to, Frank decided to ask her if she would be willing to stay the night in the spare bedroom in his apartment. His heart felt vulnerable when Lucy's beautiful, frightened eyes looked at him with uncertainty. He didn't take it personally; he could only imagine the experiences she had endured with Price. Who wouldn't be cautious?

"Look, Lucy," he said, seeking to reassure her, "this is on the level. I have the room. And you need a temporary place to stay. I'm worried the son of a bitch might show up if you're in a hotel room somewhere. Let me help you... you can trust me."

Finally, Lucy agreed. She liked Frank, and she wanted to trust him. God knows she needed a friend she could trust. "Thank you, Frank," she replied softly. "You're a good man."

Frank blushed a bit, glad for the semi-darkness in the car, and made a big show of fiddling with his car radio rather than acknowledge her words. The two of them continued down the darkening highway, listening to the radio and trying to temporarily put aside the events that had occurred at Lucy's house.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten - Lucy's Story

Lucy sat on Frank's sofa, and looked at her surroundings, trying to glean from the photos, books and other items in his apartment the little hints that would confirm her feelings about Frank's trustworthiness. Mistrust and fear still held her partially in its sway, even though she liked Frank and believed he was sincere in his desire to help her. Trust did not come easily to Lucy.

She noticed on the table nearest the sofa a photo of three girls, all in party dresses. The smallest girl in the photo was caught in mid-laugh, attempting to blow out candles on what appeared to be a birthday cake. It was a happy photograph, and it brought a measure of calm to Lucy's tumultuous thoughts.

Carrying two beers, Frank came into the room and sat down next to her. Handing her one of the cold, sweating bottles, he noticed that she was studying the photo. "Those are my girls," he said. "Pretty, aren't they?"

"Very," Lucy agreed. "Although they don't seem to resemble you too much… "

"Well, that's a good thing," he said grinning. "They look more like their mother, a pretty lady. Although the youngest, Carrie… if you met her, you would definitely know she's mine… same facial expressions… got a bit of a mouth, too. But she's a good girl."

Lucy smiled, imagining a miniature female version of Frank; it was a challenging exercise. "So… you're divorced."

Frank took a swig from the bottle, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, contemplating Lucy. "Yeah, about six years, more or less. Being married to a cop was difficult for her… long hours, my getting called out in the middle of the night, the last minute absences from the girls' school events, that sort of thing. She's a decent person; it just didn't work out. Occupational hazard, I guess.

"What about you?" he asked. "How did a woman like you wind up with a nutcase like Price?"

Troubled, Lucy stared at the beer in front of her. It was a question she often asked herself, and one she never seemed able to answer satisfactorily. "I'm not sure how to answer that, Frank. It sounds trite to say he wasn't always like… the way he is now. And actually that is partially true. He's gotten worse… I think he's lost his mind."

Frank said nothing, continuing to look at Lucy, mentally encouraging her to go on. It was an interrogation technique he often used - allowing the awkwardness of silence to encourage an individual to continue with their story. And it was no different with Lucy. She fidgeted for a moment, and then continued.

"I met Jerry when I finished school and started working. I was a secretary with the Disney Company. One day he was directing traffic around an accident at a busy intersection that I had to cross to get to the job. He saw me waiting, and held up traffic so I could get across. He winked at me, tipped his hat and smiled.

"He had a great smile and he was handsome… and he was definitely interested in me. To be honest, Frank, I'd never really dated. My parents were strict with me and pretty much kept me at home. I really didn't have any experience with men or any standard to judge Jerry against. When he began showing up every day in his uniform just to walk me across the street, I was very flattered. My co-workers noticed his attention and teased me about it. They all thought he was quite a catch." She laughed shortly. "Little did they know!"

Frank looked at her with understanding. "You know, Lucy, that's not an uncommon situation – these sort of guys seem to have radar for spotting sheltered, inexperienced girls. "

Lucy nodded. "After a week of this, he asked me if I'd go out with him. He came to the house and just bowled my parents over. They thought he was 'all that' and more. He had a good job, he was respected in the community, a police officer. I remember my father telling me I was lucky and not to screw things up. They were so impressed with him. They liked having a police officer dating their daughter.

"And, Frank, at the time, it seemed like a big deal to me, too. I thought he was so dashing and attractive, and he always seemed so very protective. …And if I noticed some small things that worried me, I let them pass."

"What sort of things?" asked Frank.

"Well, wanting to know where I was all the time and who I was going to be with; when I wasn't where I said I'd be, he would sulk. But, foolish girl that I was, I was flattered that he cared so much. And I was flattered when he would get upset if some guy looked my way. I thought it showed how crazy he was about me." Bitterly she said, "I was pretty stupid, I guess."

"Not stupid, Lucy, just naive. So, eventually, you got married. Is that when things began to change?"

"The first few years weren't bad… I mean… I suppose, looking back, there were things. He didn't want me to work anymore, insisting that my 'job' was being his wife and taking care of him. You have to understand, Frank, I was very much in love with him… and giving up my job at the time didn't seem such a hardship. Besides, he wanted kids, and I was trying to get pregnant. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out.

"And then he began to discourage my friendships. Not that he ever forbid them, at least not initially… but he was distant and unwelcoming when friends would show up at the house… and he didn't want me going out anywhere without him. After a while, my girlfriends just drifted away. In the end, it was just my parents and Jerry in my life. The only time I ever saw other people is when I went to the store for groceries, or when we would go out to events with people he worked with."

Frank shook his head grimly. "That's the way it is with these guys… they discourage their wives from having any outside relationships, totally isolate them… makes it easier to control them. And then they become bullies because they know the wives have no one to reach out to… Is that what happened, Lucy?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Over the next twelve years, he grew increasingly... difficult. He wanted his dinner always ready and waiting for him… no matter what time he came home. I used to dread dinner time; I always worried things would get cold, or dried out. He made a game out of it. He would tell me he was coming home at a certain time, and either show up earlier or later, demanding dinner, saying I had mistaken the time he told me. He'd get angry and berate me for being a bad wife because I didn't anticipate when he'd be home and have things ready for him.

"And then… there was his fixation with his uniforms. They had to be done just so, none of the buttons could be loose, everything had to be sharply creased, and lined up in his closet, all the hangers facing the same way – a precise line of shirts, pants, jackets. His drawers were the same way… everything had to be placed in the drawers in a precise manner… according to a drawing he made for me. If anything deviated from the drawing, even an inch, he would go into a rage."

"A control freak…" commented Frank.

She hung her head, as if ashamed, and her voice became even softer. "The first time he hit me it was because he found dust behind a photograph on his chest of drawers. I simply forgot to dust behind the photograph and Jerry noticed. He wanted to know what I did with my time all day that I couldn't do something as simple as cleaning a house.

"But, Frank! I had so much to do during the day! He drew up a list for me of each day's activities – things I was supposed to accomplish, hour by hour, and he posted it on the refrigerator. And God help me, if I missed one chore! The house was spotless because every day I was cleaning it from top to bottom… but there were so many senseless, idiotic things that really didn't need to be done each day… but I had to do them… because he'd check. And I dreaded having him check and discover something had been missed because he would get so irrational about it.

"That first time he hit me, I think he was surprised that he allowed his anger to reach that level. Not more than ten minutes later, he came to me crying, saying he didn't know what had come over him, begging me to forgive him, that he would never hurt me again."

She laughed bitterly. "And I believed him. And I forgave him. Six months went by, and he hit me again, and we went through the guilt and pleas for forgiveness all over. At that point, I was frightened and told him that we needed to go to counseling and find out what all this was about. Well, he refused… he said he could work it out himself… until a few months later something else set him off and he punched me in the eye. He didn't like bruises that showed, and I couldn't leave the house for several days looking like that. He was scared that time, afraid that someone would notice, and the fake persona he showed others would be exposed. So he agreed to go to counseling."

Listening intently, Frank was beginning to get a clear understanding of what Lucy's life must have been like married to Price. "Did you ever try to speak to anyone, Lucy? Your parents? His?"

She shook her head. "Jerry's parents died when he was a kid... He grew up in foster homes. As for mine... I told you about them... I think they knew what was going on, but my dad's point of view was that I probably deserved it… that I wasn't fulfilling my duties as a wife in some way. You have no idea how much he and my mother loved Jerry, how charming he was to them. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth when he was around them."

Frank nodded, disliking Lucy's stupid parents. "How did the counseling go?"

"As well as you might expect. Jerry was penitent in front of the counselor, asking for help with his 'anger management,' and admitting everything was his fault. The counselor was won over; let's see – how did she put it? Oh yes: 'He was taking responsibility for his actions and his problems… that I should be supportive and encouraging.' And we'd leave the office, and Jerry would get a good laugh out of that; he thought counseling was a joke.

"...And then the violence began to escalate and take new forms, and it scared me. I began to worry that he might seriously hurt me. In the early years, he would blow up, hit me, but then everything would calm down as he dealt with his guilt over having hurt me. But after a while, I saw that he began to enjoy frightening me. It was chilling to see the expression his face would take on as he held the threat of physical violence over my head – it was psychological as much as it was physical, and he reveled in it. It seemed as time went on, that any restraint he once exercised disappeared… he actually began to look for reasons to blow up and torment me."

She shuddered as she said, half in wonder, "Sometimes... it seemed he got a sexual thrill from it... that it started to turn him on... "

Frank reached for Lucy's hand and looked into her eyes. "What made you finally leave him? Was there any one incident?"

"The last time I saw him, he had gone into a rage about his uniform and a missing button. He grabbed the shirt and cut off all the buttons… and then…" Lucy hesitated; it hurt and shamed her to admit that the man who was supposed to love and protect her instead spent his time dreaming up ways to hurt her.

"What happened, honey?" asked Frank, tenderly.

"He took the knife… and started cutting me. I was so scared... stunned, actually. I wondered if he would stop before... Oh God, I'm so ashamed!" Lucy bowed her head. She was humiliated, and silent tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. She quickly stood up, wanting to escape to the room Frank had provided for her, but he stopped her, gently pulling her back down to the sofa and holding her hand.

She refused to look at him as he spoke quietly to her. "Lucy, you don't have to be ashamed because you were married to this creep. He's the one with the problem. You did nothing wrong."

Her voice thick with tears, she replied roughly, "But I stayed with him. I _stayed _with him all those years! I let him hurt me! I was such a coward!"

Frank sighed. "Lucy, you stayed with him because you were more afraid of what faced you outside the marriage than within. That's not unusual in these situations. But here's the thing: you eventually did leave. You left without the support of friends or family. You came to a new city, found yourself a place to live, and you found yourself a job. And you did all that without anyone to help or encourage you. You did it in spite of your fear of the unknown. You know what I call that?"

Lucy looked at him dubiously. "What?"

"Courage. The best sort of courage. The sort of courage that wouldn't allow you to continue to be victimized. I admire you, Lucy Price."

Lucy's surprise showed through her tears as she considered what Frank was saying. "I think you're one of the bravest women I know. I've seen women with a hell of a lot more going for them than you in terms of support and financial resources... and they continue to put up with a lot of crap. But _you_… _you _left, not knowing how things would turn out. You are one brave lady."

Lucy looked at the man sitting next to her, and she suddenly gave Frank a genuine smile that lit up her face. It was such a sweet, unexpected smile that it momentarily took Frank's breath away. _God, she's beautiful. And sweet. How could he have hurt her? Why wouldn't a man want to protect a woman like that?_

"Thank you! Oh, thank you!" She impulsively leaned forward, tears still on her face, and kissed Frank on the cheek. "You admire _me_? You think I'm _brave_? No one has ever said anything like that to me before."

Frank was still reeling a bit from having Lucy lean forward and kiss him. Before he could say anything, he heard the soft whirring noise coming from the corner of his living room that functioned as a makeshift office. Turning his head toward his work desk, he saw that his fax machine was printing off pages.

"Excuse me for a second, Lucy." He walked over to the machine, and pulled out several copies of photographs of the deceased Savannah Ralston as well as some notes from Eric. Just as he was starting to read the information, his phone began buzzing. Walking to where Lucy was sitting, he reached over for the phone sitting on the coffee table. Answering it, he heard Horatio's voice.

"Frank, did you get the material on Miss Ralston yet?"

"Just got it. Haven't had an opportunity to read it, though… why? Something special?"

"Frank, when you checked out Bradley Quaid, do you remember where he came from?"

"Yeah, he was from some rural town in Georgia; he met Braxton there when Braxton was holding those circuit revival meetings. Why?"

"Well, I was thinking about his accent today… When I started questioning him about Julia, he lost his polished veneer… and his accent seemed… very southern… and very antagonistic… sort of like a good ol' country boy ready for battle."

"Really? Mr. Smooth?"

"Not so smooth for those few moments, Frank… But then the genteel mask quickly reappeared and the accent vanished for the most part. I didn't make the connection earlier, but Miss Ralston is from Georgia… and, according to the notes from Eric, the town she came from is in a rural, backwoods area of that state. Do you recall the town Quaid was from?"

"I don't think it was Jacob's Creek, but let me check on it. Could be someplace near there, I suppose."

While Frank was speaking, Lucy had been looking at a copy of one of the photographs that Frank, intent on his conversation with Horatio, had absently placed on the coffee table.

Suddenly, she tugged on Frank's sleeve. "Hold on a minute, H."

He looked inquiringly at Lucy. "What is it?"

She pointed at the photograph of Savannah Ralston. "Frank, I know this woman… she came into the church offices twice."

Frank's eyebrows drew together and he frowned. "Are you sure about that?"

"Absolutely. She asked to see Mrs. Braxton."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven - Night Moves

_8:00 pm - Same Evening - Horatio's House_

Horatio walked into the bedroom and opened up his closet, pulling out slacks and a soft cotton shirt. He could hear Lauren in the bathroom as he quickly shed his casual clothes and put on the more formal garments. He slipped his cell phone into his pocket just as Lauren emerged, wearing his faded old blue-and-white striped cotton bathrobe. Looking at him with surprise, she asked, "Going somewhere?"

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart. Frank has a person who may provide a lead in the current case - and at his place, no less."

Lauren tilted her head, and slowly let the shapeless cotton robe fall from her body. Horatio swallowed hard as he took in the plum colored, barely-there satin camisole and the small silky triangle of lace covering her crotch. "Can't it wait until tomorrow, honey?" she asked.

Horatio was tempted to call Frank back and tell him he'd talk with him in the morning, especially as he watched Lauren smooth the waist-length waves behind her shoulders and smile her own special invitation to him. Shaking his head to clear it, he replied, "No... No, I don't think it can, Lauren."

She sighed, and slid into the bed. "Well, shall I stay... or come back tomorrow?"

He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge closest to her. Touching the soft, pale waves, he smiled and huskily replied, "I'd really like you to stay. I won't be long. Okay?"

Pulling him to her gently, she whispered into his ear, "Okay... but don't be _too _long... I have plans for us this evening."

XXXXX

_Miami Dade Library System, Coral Reef Branch_

The tall, beefy, handsome man was hunched over one of the computers in the library, intently studying the screen before him. If anyone had taken a moment to really look at him, they would have been disquieted by his air of frowning, fixed concentration and the methodical way his fingers kept punching keys and staring at the rapidly passing images before him.

After twenty minutes, he looked up from the screen, lost in thought. A teenager noticed that he was no longer utilizing the computer, and began to approach him with the intent of asking if he could now sign on. Suddenly the man looked the kid's way, and the menacing coldness in his gaze stopped the boy short. A creeping sensation that something was not quite right caused the boy to quickly change direction. The man smiled, slowly and queerly. It gave him a warm tide of feeling to be able to control the kid with just a glance.

Satisfied, Jerry Price looked around at the others in the library. He felt the delicious sensation of knowing that he had a secret... And it gave him a heady feeling of power. He stared contemptuously at the mothers with young children, choosing books to read to their kids, and at the senior citizens signing up for literary book club meetings. Smirking, he watched a pair of young lovers at a corner table in the back, surreptitiously sneaking calf-like glances at one another over the tops of books they'd never bother to read.

_Fools! _he thought scornfully. They appeared to have no purpose, just wasting their time and the evening.

He, however, had a purpose. _Oh yeah, you betcha!_ he thought with dark amusement_. I definitely got a purpose._

He thought about all the information he'd just found while conducting a simple Internet search. _Gotta love GOOGLE - sure makes it a lot easier to find out what you want to know._

Like all about a certain Frank Tripp, the Miami Dade detective who warned him off Lucy. It really was child's play; after several moments at the computer, he knew Frank's professional history, that he'd been married before and had children, where his wife lived, and where he lived. He even was able to view the streets and buildings, thanks to satellite imaging.

Price rose from the chair and walked out of the library and into the streets. He saw a woman dressed in running shorts and shoes jog past him, focused on her exercise regimen. Her dark, curly hair and attractive figure reminded him of his wife.

Jerry tensed as he wondered where Tripp had taken Lucy. It wasn't to the broken down place she called home; no, Jerry had seen the police lights surrounding the house, and watched, hidden by trees on the other side of the road, as Lucy drove away with Tripp. He still experienced a let-down at the thought that it was the cop who had discovered his handiwork in Lucy's bedroom. With pleasure, he had looked forward to witnessing her fear as she found the torn-up bed clothes as well as the little tableau with the dolls. Lucy's fear was always deliciously exhilarating to Jerry - a palpable thing he'd grown to enjoy and crave; indeed, he craved it as much as a junkie craved his crack. It was his drug of choice, and it had enraged him when she left him and he couldn't find her.

Even after two years, Price was incensed when he thought of her successful escape. He never thought she'd run; he hadn't thought she had it in her.

Everything in his life had changed when she ran away. He saw how the neighbors looked at him after her disappearance... as if sizing him up, wondering what weakness or failing he had that his wife would desert him. It grated on him and after awhile he could think of nothing but finding her and teaching her a lesson. It became an obsession with him... and it ended up costing him his job. For the past few months, he'd been without the job he'd valued so much, and had taken to drinking and just laying about the house, keeping it a secret from neighbors and Lucy's family that he was no longer _Officer _Price.

And then, unexpectedly, he'd run into Lucy's mother. Price had always stayed on the good side of Lucy's parents, realizing he had allies in her controlling, crusty old man, and the dim-witted woman who was her mother. When Lucy left him, her father had taken Jerry's part, ashamed his daughter had left a man who was an officer of the law and a good provider. It always made Jerry grin inwardly that he had so easily manipulated and controlled Lucy's parents. It had taken so little effort on his part. Growing up in a series of foster homes, Jerry had learned a valuable lesson: _most people only saw what they wanted to see. _If you showed them an appealing, attractive exterior, they accepted what you offered, and never looked beneath the surface. Appearance and packaging are everything. And, oh, did Lucy's parents buy the package - and it added to his sense of power, knowing Lucy had no support from them.

Too stupid to get it and too blinded by what she wanted to believe, Lucy's mother had disclosed to Jerry that Lucy had contacted her... and was living in Miami, not too far from where an elderly family member resided. After that, it was a sweet little game to track his bad girl down. And leave her _loving _messages.

Well, that was the past. His wife now had a playmate. And it enraged Jerry that someone was meddling in his territory.

He would be watching this man who dared interfere in his life. Watching and waiting. This Tripp would lead Price to Lucy... sooner or later.

_What a delicious game!_

XXXXX

Frank had asked Lucy to make a pot of coffee as he answered the door to let Horatio inside the apartment. When she had heard the knock on the door, her face had paled, and Frank could see she was worried about who was on the other side. Assuring her it was Horatio, he thought it best to assign her a small task to perform while he greeted his friend.

"Come on in, Horatio - Lucy is making coffee; then we'll talk."

Horatio looked at Frank quizzically. "Frank, I don't understand... What is Miss Price doing here?"

"Long story, H, and not a pretty one. She left her husband and he tracked her down; the bastard's threatening her. He went to her house and tore up her bedroom and left mutilated dolls laying about. She had no one to turn to, no where to go... So she is spending the night here."

"Mutilated dolls? He sounds deranged; are you certain you're safe, Frank?" Horatio looked at his friend pensively. "What do you know about him?"

"Aside from his being a crazy son of a bitch? Well, he's a cop with the Orange County Sheriff's Office. I called it into MDPD - they've issued an APB for him. Let's talk about something else, Horatio. I don't want Lucy to walk in while we're discussing this jerk. She's pretty scared."

Horatio was about to respond when Lucy walked in with the coffee pot. Instead, he greeted her, and the three of them sat down at the dining room table as Lucy poured the coffee.

"Lucy," said Frank, "Horatio and I want to ask you a few questions about the young woman in the photographs."

Lucy's large, sea-green eyes regarded Frank solemnly. "You mean Miss Ralston," she said, her gaze briefly settling on the photos on the table.

"That's right, Miss Price," responded Horatio. "Her name is Savannah Ralston, and she was discovered this morning in a motel room. Murdered. Frank says that you identified her as someone who came into Harvest Souls church several times. What can you tell us about that?"

Lucy bit her bottom lip absently as she tried to recall the two times the woman had come into the church.

"Take your time, honey," said Frank kindly. "We're in no rush. Try to remember - this is important."

Horatio raised an eyebrow in surprise at Frank's use of the endearment. He couldn't recall his hard bitten friend ever using such terms in interviews in the past, even when he had sympathy for an individual. Horatio was beginning to realize that Frank had a soft spot for the frightened woman... and it worried him.

Hesitantly, Lucy responded, "The first time Miss Ralston came to our offices, she seemed tense... upset about something. She asked to see Mrs. Braxton... Said they were old friends. When I told Mrs. Braxton she was there, she immediately came out to see her."

"What was her reaction, Miss Price? Was Mrs. Braxton disturbed by Miss Ralston's presence?" inquired Horatio.

"No, not at all. In fact, my impression was that they were very good friends. As soon as she saw Miss Ralston, she embraced her; actually, she kissed her cheek and asked her how she had been... and then escorted her into her office."

"So, Lucy, are you saying there was no tension? And that she appeared to know her?"

"That's right, Frank. In fact, she seemed happy to see her... as if they were old and dear friends about to renew their memories of past, happy times."

Horatio frowned. "What about Miss Ralston... Was she as happy to see Mrs. Braxton?"

Lucy paused for a moment, trying to put her thoughts into words. "Not exactly. She seemed... tense. As if she had something weighing on her... something she was worried about."

"Lucy, what about the second meeting with Mrs. Braxton? How did that go?"

"Well, she asked for Mrs. Braxton, but she wasn't in... Instead, Mr. Quaid said he would see her."

"Really?" asked Horatio with interest. "And how did that go?"

Biting her lip again, Lucy raked the curly black hair off her forehead, trying to remember Savannah Ralston's reaction to meeting with Quaid instead of Mrs. Braxton. "It was odd..." she began.

"In what way?"

"When I told her Mrs. Braxton was not in and that Mr. Quaid would see her, Miss Ralston decided not to wait. I tried to convince her to stay, but she said no, that she'd come back some other time... She practically ran out the door. It was very strange."

Frank and Horatio looked at each other. Finally, Horatio asked, "What was Mr. Quaid's reaction when you told him Miss Ralston left?"

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. "He just said 'good riddance' and went back to work."

"Did you think his reaction strange, Miss Price?"

"No... not really. He was always stand-offish with me. Rather cool. I thought nothing of it."

"Lucy," said Frank, "what can you tell us about Lee-Anne Braxton?"

Lucy smiled with warmth. "She is wonderful, Frank!"

Horatio and Frank glanced at each other with surprise. Both had considered the woman a charlatan, and we're unprepared for Lucy's apparent admiration for her. "How so, Miss Price?" asked Horatio.

Lucy's color deepened. Frank could see that whatever she was about to tell them was important to her, and also difficult. "Lucy, honey, don't be afraid... tell us your impressions of Mrs. Braxton. It's important, okay?"

Reassured, Lucy began, haltingly, to speak. "When I first moved to Miami, I was so...alone... afraid. I was depressed and didn't know what to do, where to go... I had no one to help me. I was staying in a cheap hotel at the time, and one night I just had to get out to escape my thoughts and worries. I wandered into a bookstore down town. I was about to order a cup of coffee and look at the magazine I had picked up when I noticed all these people gathered around this beautiful woman who was signing copies of books for them.

"Wondering what the commotion was all about, I approached them and listened to the people in the crowd. Mrs. Braxton was the woman who was signing copies of her book. She was so... sparkling and lovely... and warm. I overheard bits of her conversation with the women whose books she was signing, and she was so kind and encouraging to them."

Earnestly, Lucy looked at both men. "Frank, Lieutenant Caine, it made me feel better just being in her presence. Even though I had little money, I grabbed one of the copies of her book - it was called 'Empowered and Set Free!' - and stood in line to have the book signed.

"I was drawn to her... I just needed a little encouragement, you know?"

Frank smiled. "I know. So, I take it she spoke with you? Signed your book?"

"When it was my turn, she looked into my eyes with such warmth and understanding. I had been so upset since... well, since I left Orlando... and the story tumbled out of me. I started sobbing and was afraid she would have someone take me away. But, Frank, instead she stood up and embraced me and said a prayer over me. Maybe it seems stupid or silly to you... but I felt... comforted... and hopeful.

"She asked me to stay until she finished with the book signing... she said that she might be able to help me. And that is how I got the job working at Harvest Souls. She is a good person, Frank."

Horatio let his breath out and raised his brows at Frank. This wasn't what he expected to learn. Looking at Lucy, he said, "Well, I think that is enough for this evening. Thank you, Miss Price. We appreciate your help." He turned to Frank and asked for a private word with him as he was leaving.

Stepping out into the hallway, Frank closed the door behind them. "What do you think, Horatio?"

"I think we need to pay Lee-Anne Braxton a visit. I want to know what she and Savannah Ralston discussed... and I want to know why Miss Ralston didn't want to meet with her brother. If she knew Mrs. Braxton, then she must have known Quaid... and that has my curiosity peaked."

Frank nodded in agreement and was about to re-enter his apartment when Horatio placed a hand on his shoulder. "Francis... Lucy's husband... be careful, okay?"

Frank looked into Horatio's worried eyes and smiled briefly, his expression turning grim. "I always am, H... I always am."

XXXXX

_On the other side of town..._

Julia opened her door, welcoming her lover into the foyer. He closed the door behind him and turned to find Julia moving toward him, enfolding him in a passionate embrace.

"Hey, lover," she said seductively, beginning to rain soft, passionate kisses down the column of his throat. The man laughed and, putting his hands beneath her bottom, he scooped her up against him, and carried her across the room to the sofa in the living room. Allowing her body to slowly slide down his, he released her, and began to pull down the zipper at the back of her dress. Gently easing the garment from her body, his eyes gleamed in appreciation. "Someone has an appetite tonight," she observed with amusement.

"Baby, you know it."

Julia slid the jacket from his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground, continuing to kiss the exposed parts of his body. She began to unbutton his shirt and pushed it off of him. As the shirt fell to the floor, Julia noticed the deep scratches on his forearms.

"Bradley," she asked, "what happened to your arms?"

He ignored the question, continuing to kiss and caress her. Julia stepped away. "Lover, what happened to your arms? Does it hurt?"

Irritated, Quaid pulled her to him. "I didn't come here for conversation, Julia." Soon, Julia thought little of conversation either as she gave herself up to the pleasure of his hands and mouth.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve - The Game's Afoot

_Miami Dade Crime Lab, the next morning..._

Eric Delko looked up from his microscope, and keyed some additional information into the computer. Deep in thought, he didn't hear Horatio slip into the room until the older man cleared his throat. Startled, he looked at Horatio and smiled. "Hey, H. I was just finishing up some notes on the Ralston case. You get the info I faxed last night?"

Horatio folded his arms across his chest, and leisurely leaned back against one of the tables in the room. "I did. Thank you. It was helpful to have the photos and background information so quickly. Has her family been contacted yet?"

"What there is of it. Seems she lived with her mother and a younger sister."

"She lived in a rather backwoods part of Georgia, didn't she?"

"That's so... but the family was better off than most. About eight years ago, they moved into a modest, but newly constructed log cabin - kinda nice based on the photographs. Wrap-around verandah, old fashioned porch swing... nice little play area out in the back. Seems the mother, Lillian Ralston, runs a Christian day care center from the house called " Little Sunbeams." And from Savannah's financial records, such as they are, she had a tidy little bank account - nothing spectacular - as well as a nice car that was fairly new. Also completely paid for."

"Interesting. The Georgia residence... it's a possible tie to the Braxtons since Bobby Braxton's success with the revival meetings really began in Georgia," said Horatio reflectively. "Did you cross-reference her name with the Braxtons... and the Quaids?"

"Yeah, but nothing showed up. If they knew each other, it was kept pretty quiet."

"Still," continued Horatio, "according to the church receptionist, Miss Ralston showed up to meet with Braxton's wife... there seems to be a connection there."

"Hmm… well, that might not be all that ties her to the Braxtons. Tom uploaded some photos of the vic's throat injuries into the investigation file. Look at this." Eric punched several keys on the computer and pulled up the Ralston data. A few clicks later, he and Horatio were viewing an enhanced image of the marks marring the young woman's throat. Horatio frowned and leaned in for a closer look. "Eric, the imprint from the rope used to strangle her… look at that… the marks on her throat appear to have a… basket weave pattern."

"Bingo. We found a few gold fibers. Trace was able to identify the fibers as a combination of silk and chenille. The pattern on her throat is identical to a distinctive tri-plaited cording developed and sold exclusively by a North Carolina retailer of fine furniture and fabrics. Seems their business is primarily centered on providing furnishings to wealthy churches and cathedrals - very high end. I have a photo of the cord sold by the company and the fiber comparison somewhere here... Yes, here it is."

A magnified image of drapery cording from the retailer's database appeared on the monitor. "Well. You know, Eric, I've seen this type of cord before - in Pastor Braxton's office." Horatio was silent for a moment, recalling Braxton's plush office and how his eyes had noticed the expensive-looking velvet curtains held in place with heavy, gold silk cords ending in thick gold fringes. It was the same as the sample cord shown in the image on Eric's computer.

"Eric, can we call the retailer and find out if Harvest Souls is a customer?"

"Already done. Natalia contacted them, and they confirmed they've sold merchandise to them... and among the goods sold were draperies and drapery cords. After we found the church's telephone number in the room with Miss Ralston, we assumed that you'd want to see if there was a connection."

"Good work, Eric," said Horatio, impressed with the speed with which he'd accomplished this. "Let's ask for a copy of the bill of sale."

Eric smiled. "So, how did the meeting at the church go yesterday? Come away with anything?"

"Not really. Not yet… I fully expect that to change, however. I have a new lead, and I'm paying them another visit today."

"Well, from what I hear, _you _may not have come away with anything, but apparently ol' Tripp did," said Eric, grinning.

"News certainly travels fast around here… Leaving Frank's romantic life aside for the moment, Eric, what else can you tell me?"

"Valera is performing a kit on the blood and epithelia found under the vic's fingernails. When you have a suspect, we'll be ready to compare DNA samples."

"Okay... that's good. So, do you have anything else?"

"Yeah, I do. This is interesting, H. The glass that Tom picked up in his slacks when he knelt down to examine the body… well, it consisted of silica, lime… and several metallic oxides. Let's see," he said, looking at some notes he'd made. "Yeah, here it is: copper oxide and cobalt oxide."

"Color agents... they are utilized in the manufacture of stained glass windows," mused Horatio. "Well, Eric… that is interesting. I wonder if there are any stained glass windows at Harvest Souls in need of repair? Thank you, sir."

Leaving Eric, Horatio took the elevator to the floor below, and walked down the hallway to Frank Tripp's cubicle. He slowed, catching sight of the Texan's serious demeanor as he spoke urgently into the phone. Standing at a polite distance, he waited for Frank to complete the call. "Look, Lucy, don't answer the door for anyone. I don't care if God, himself, should start knocking on that door – do **_not _**answer it, okay?" Horatio noticed his friend's grim expression and, not for the first time, he worried about him. When Frank finished the call, he shook his head and looked at Horatio. "I had a hell of a time convincing her to stay home from work today. She's scared of Price, but I think she's even more frightened of losing her job. I finally got her to agree to call in sick. I don't want her going anywhere until we find this joker."

"She is still staying at your apartment then?"

Frank looked slightly uncomfortable. "She is... Look, Horatio, where else is she going to go? I guess we could put her up at a hotel and request police protection... but that worries me. First, she's frightened and not very trusting. She seems to trust me, so I think she's safe and comfortable at my place for the time being. Second, Price was a cop... putting her up in a hotel with Price out and about, and his having a cop's instincts and whatever advantages that might go along with that… well, it makes me uneasy. We can't really rely on police protection to effectively guard her in an unsecured location."

Horatio seemed nonplussed. "Do you consider your apartment a secured location, Frank?"

"I do," he said firmly. "At least for now. God, I want to catch this guy!"

"Have you learned anything more about him?"

"Seems he was let go by Orange County about six months ago. I got a buddy in the D.A.'s office up there, and he made a few calls and gave me the scoop. Price was always an arrogant, bullying type… liked flashing his badge around, intimidating people. But during the last year, he became erratic, and started drinking on the job. He roughed up a few hookers he brought in. Bunch of stuff like that. They decided he was more of a liability than an asset and cut him loose. He's been laying low since then… or at least until Lucy's mother told him Lucy was in Miami. Damn woman! You have to wonder, H, how a mother and father can be as stupid as they seem to be."

Horatio agreed. "Miss Price is lucky to have found a friend in you… but don't take any chances. I'll feel better about you once Price is brought in."

"I can take care of myself… it's Lucy I'm concerned about."

Changing the subject, Horatio continued, "Up to a visit to see Mrs. Braxton?"

"Yeah, let's go see the good 'Sister.' I gotta tell you, Horatio, what Lucy says about her and what I've seen on television doesn't much jell."

Nodding, Horatio found himself thinking the same thing. "Come on, Frank, I'll fill you in along the way… I've just talked with Eric, and there are some new developments."

XXXXX

_Julia's Home..._

Bradley Quaid was buttoning up his shirt when Julia rose languidly from the bed to help him finish the task. Her eyes gazed at the cufflinks, still attached to the shirt from the night before. "I see you are wearing the cufflinks. Like 'em?" she asked, a sensual smile on her lips.

"I love 'em," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "Someone else liked 'em, too."

"Oh," said Julia, straightening and smoothing his tie, "and who would that be, lover?"

"The police lieutenant who came by to see me yesterday, and warned me that he was watching me."

Julia drew away from Quaid and frowned. "Horatio? Horatio came to see you? Because of me?"

"No, my self-centered little nymph, not because of _you_. Well, not entirely. He had come to talk with Bobby about police business, and I was there. When he learned who I was, he wasted no time drilling me. Pompous ass, isn't he?"

Julia turned away, confused and worried. Was Horatio going to ruin this for her? Damn! Why couldn't the man just mind his own business? She didn't ask for his help! She had told him about her feelings for Bradley... that they were serious.

Quaid studied Julia for a moment. "You still involved with this guy, Julia? I don't want your old boyfriend causing me or the church any problems because he feels I've infringed on his territory…. So just let me know, and I'll step aside. I don't need the grief, darlin.' "

Julia whirled around to face him, her face indignant. "I am NOT involved with him. He just doesn't know when to let go. It was probably Kyle... Our boy always worries about me. He's been asking Horatio to look out for me. But I can fix this. Horatio will not be a problem."

"He better not be… because as sweet as you are - and, baby, you are sweet - I'll cut you loose if he is," said Quaid, his voice and his eyes hard. "So tell 'Red' to back off… got it?"

"I will, I will. Stop worrying."

"Damn," he muttered suddenly, almost beneath his breath. Looking at his white shirt, he noticed little traces of blood seeping through the sleeves. Thinking of Julia's eager passion that morning, he saw that several of the scratches on his arms had opened up. He quickly slid out of the shirt he had just buttoned. "Julia, get me a Kleenex, please."

Grabbing a handful, Julia dabbed at the blood on his forearms, stanching the bleeding. "What happened, Bradley? How did you do this to your arms?"

Quaid pursed his lips. "It's nothing, Julia. Lee-Anne's psycho cat attacked me the other day when I tried to push it off her desk. She takes the damned thing everywhere. It doesn't belong at the church, but you can't tell my sister anything."

"There," said Julia, looking into his eyes, "all better. You can put your shirt back on."

Quaid quickly re-buttoned the shirt, adjusted his cuffs and smoothed back his hair. "I meant what I said about the lieutenant, Julia. Make sure you handle it."

XXXXX

_The lobby of the Harvest Souls offices..._

Horatio and Frank faced the genteel, smartly dressed African-American who was filling in for Lucy that day. Surprised the receptionist was male, Frank raised a brow at Horatio. While the man spoke softly into the phone, alerting Mrs. Braxton to the arrival of the visitors, Horatio leaned toward Frank and whispered, "Now, now, Francis... don't be sexist!" Frank rolled his eyes and looked away from both Horatio and the receptionist.

Finally, the young man told them that Mrs. Braxton would see them, and he ushered them into Lee-Anne Braxton's luxurious office.

The beautiful woman seated behind the imposing, deep red mahogany desk looked up at them and smiled warmly. "Gentlemen, I understand you have some questions for me." Glancing in the direction of the receptionist, she said, "Lewis, honey, will you bring us a pitcher of iced tea and some glasses, please? I'm sure the gentlemen here must be parched in this terrible heat. Thank you, darlin.' "

Standing up, Lee-Anne moved from behind the desk and approached them. "Let's have a seat over here," she said in a lilting southern accent as she directed them to the small alcove off the main room. "You all will be much more comfortable." The three of them were about to sit down when Frank jumped as he heard a sharp hiss and a grumpy meow. Curled up on the plush sofa cushion was a long-haired, white cat with glittering, angry green eyes.

"Crackers!" Mrs. Braxton scolded, "You stop hissing at the gentlemen this minute!" Unimpressed, the bad-tempered cat continued to hiss and eye Frank malevolently. "Officer, I do apologize. I'm afraid that cat has no manners whatsoever. I've had her for several years... found her outside my house one morning, half-starved, and spitting fire at the world. Well, I took her in, and fattened her up. Improved her looks, but I'm afraid not much can be said for her personality." Frank gingerly backed away from the angry cat, and sat at the far end of the sofa; Horatio tried to suppress a grin.

Lewis walked back into the room bearing a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and glasses, and sat them down on the table in front of Frank and Horatio. Scooping the fat, angry cat up into her arms, Lee-Anne kissed the top of its ungrateful head, and handed the irate bundle of fur over to Lewis, who seemed to handle the beast with aplomb.

As Lewis left the room, he could be heard crooning soothingly, "Now, Crackers, why you want to go acting that way in front of company? You sure are a worthless little she-devil." Lee-Anne smiled as the door closed behind them.

"I'm afraid only two people love Crackers - me and Lewis. My husband just can't abide her... says she is his penance in life for some imagined slight against the feline world!"

Horatio smiled and said nothing, watching Mrs. Braxton take a seat in front of a large picture window from which the church's lovely grounds could be seen. She sat forward and began to pour the tea into tall, mint garnished glasses for the officers, and Horatio used the time to study her.

Lee-Anne was at least ten years younger than Bobby Braxton; Horatio guessed her age to be early thirties, perhaps. She had beautiful blond hair which, at this moment, was gathered back into a smooth chignon, allowing the large gold, knot-shaped earrings in her ears to be seen. Her mouth was generous, and the corners of her full red lips were curved upward in an unguarded smile. But it was the eyes that drew one in; they were a smoky, golden brown color and surrounded by lots of inky black eyelashes, and they seemed alight with curiosity and friendliness. Horatio watched as her elegant, slender hands, their wrists encased in slim gold bracelets, offered him the glass of cold tea, and he noted the two large diamond rings she wore. She was dressed in a bright yellow designer suit with a pale apricot camisole peeking out from beneath the partially opened jacket.

Everything about Lee-Anne Braxton made one think of money... yet in spite of the ostentatious jewelry, she looked beautiful and refined, and her mien was one of understated elegance. Not quite the "anointed Sister Lee-Anne" the billboards and television ministry promoted. _Was this the same woman who garbed herself in white gowns and cried crocodile tears while experiencing visions and praying over the sick? _wondered Horatio.

Finishing up her task, she leaned back into the large, overstuffed chair and crossed her long, shapely legs. 'Gentlemen," she said, smilingly, "what can I do for you?"

Frank leaned forward and handed her a copy of the photograph of Savannah Ralston. "Ma'am, do you know this woman?"

Taking the photo from him, Lee-Anne's brows knit in consternation as she glanced at it. "Yes, I know her. That's Savannah Ralston." Her eyes dark with concern, she looked at Frank. "Is Savannah in some sort of difficulty, Officer?"

Frank nodded. "You might say that... she's dead."

"What?" Lee-Anne stood up abruptly. "... But that can't be. Savannah was just here several days ago... I can't believe this! How did it happen?"

Studying her intently, Horatio replied, "Miss Ralston was murdered. Strangled."

Lee-Anne stared at Horatio, her pretty mouth shaped in an _**O **_as she slowly sank back down into the chair.

"Mrs. Braxton, are you all right?" asked Horatio, concerned as he watched the color leave her face. "Would you like to have your husband join us?"

'He isn't here... he had a business meeting downtown with some of our important financial backers..." Lee-Anne replied. "Sir," she continued in a shaky voice, looking squarely at Horatio, "are you quite certain about this?"

"I'm afraid so, ma'am."

Tears began to form in Lee-Anne's eyes as she digested the news. "Oh poor Savannah!" she said, reaching for the handkerchief in her suit pocket. "Poor, poor Savannah!"

"Mrs. Braxton," began Frank, "we met with your husband yesterday... he denied knowing Miss Ralston."

Lee-Anne nodded. Her voice was muffled with tears. "I'm sure he did. He didn't know Savannah."

"But you did... "

"Yes, yes... Have you contacted her family yet? Her momma?"

"We have. Mrs. Ralston is coming down from Georgia today... she's coming on a bus."

Lee-Anne looked at Horatio queerly. "Alone?"

He shrugged. "I really don't have an answer to that question. Is it of interest?"

The woman looked sadly at Horatio. "Perhaps... oh, I wish I had known! I would have made... arrangements... to fly Lillian down here." Dabbing the handkerchief to her eyes once again, she said miserably, "Oh, Savannah!"

Giving her a moment to compose herself, Horatio noticed that sitting on a low bookcase across the room was an ornament of some type. An empty leaded frame was suspended on a hook from a stationery base. Idly curious, Horatio turned his attention away from it and back to the woman before him.

"Mrs. Braxton, will you tell us how you knew Miss Ralston?"

More composed, Lee-Anne bit her lip and lightly rubbed a bejeweled hand across her brow. "It's a long story, Lieutenant," she said softly.

"Well, I've got plenty of time," replied Horatio.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen - The Past is Never Really the Past

_Near the entrance to the grounds of the Harvest Souls Congregation..._

When he had an objective, Jerry Price could be a man of enduring patience. And never was that trait more in evidence than on this hot, early summer morning as he sat patiently in an old, beat-up Ford he'd bought several days prior to leaving Orlando for Miami. The aged vehicle had cost him about $1,500 cash - it had been a quick, anonymous purchase off the lot of some mom-and-pop used car operation. The car was forgettable... faded silver paint, dulled headlights, a few dings and small dents. If someone had happened to notice it, the car would have been forgotten several minutes later. It was, for Jerry's purposes, perfect.

Among its lesser advantages, however, was the Ford's lack of air conditioning, and Jerry watched and waited in the sweltering heat, the windows of the old car rolled all the way down. He had parked the vehicle just outside the line of vision of the stationed guard who was manning the entrance to the Harvest Souls' church grounds. He would like to have entered the grounds in order to have a better vantage point for observing the departure of the detective, but he knew that would be foolish and risky. He didn't want to attract the notice of the guard by calling attention to himself and having to explain his business there... or risk leaving a memory of the conversation in the guard's mind. So, from a safe distance, he sat… patiently… watching… waiting.

Earlier in the day, Price had sat on a bench near the Miami Dade Crime Lab, ostensibly reading the newspaper that shielded his face from view. Like his car, Price had taken pains to appear nondescript. After showering that morning in the tiny motel room he was renting, he dressed in a pair of casual gray slacks and a white polo shirt. Standing in front of the old, smoky and silvered mirror, he slipped on a pair of simple, dark sunglasses and critically evaluated his appearance. His intent was to blend in with the general population so that anyone who glanced his way would look right through him rather than at him. _Just call me Mr. Cellophane, _he thought, grinning sardonically.

His strategy was apparently successful because as he sat and waited for the object of his interest to show up, he noticed all the people around him who were busily going about their affairs and not giving him a glance or a second thought. Price sat still, staring at but not reading the newspaper he had brought along. After about thirty minutes, his patience was rewarded and he watched as Frank Tripp and some fellow left the Crime Lab in a Hummer. Unobserved, he hurried to his own car and, from a safe distance, tailed Tripp and the companion who was driving the vehicle.

And that had led to his sitting near church property, sweating in his hot car, and wondering what the detective was up to. At first, he suspected the cop was there to see Lucy. But a call to the church that was answered by a male voice quickly convinced him that Lucy was not there. So the only conclusion he could draw was that the detective had hidden Lucy somewhere... _But where? Where could he have hidden her? _

He felt the gnawing anger in him beginning to ignite. How dare this man stick his nose into 'family' business. Who the hell was he to interfere in Jerry's life? Lucy was his wife!

_Calm down_, he quickly admonished himself, feeling his control beginning to slip. _Easy… easy. Easy does it. You're getting yourself all worked up. Keep your eyes on the prize… Isn't that what the old man in the last foster home he lived in used to say? Yeah, boy… keep your eyes on the prize._

_Gotta be patient... Sooner or later, this detective is going to lead you to Lucy... and when he does..._

Price allowed the thought to go unfinished as he continued to furtively watch the entrance for the Hummer's departure. _Patience, boy, patience… eyes on the prize._

XXXXX

_Lee-Anne Braxton's office at Harvest Souls..._

"I've got plenty of time, ma'am," repeated Horatio when Lee-Anne fell silent. "Tell us how you know Miss Ralston."

Lee-Anne Braxton again touched the handkerchief to her eyes, slowly beginning to tell Horatio and Frank her story in a musical southern accent.

"Lieutenant, I have known Savannah Ralston since I was ten years old. She was just a baby when I first met her. You see, I was a little girl when my momma died. Savannah's momma took care of me every day after school until my daddy got home from work each night. She also watched me on weekends since Daddy took a second job to make ends meet.

"After Momma died, things were rough... lots of medical bills, that sort of thing. With Daddy working so much, Miss Lillian, Savannah's momma, became a second mother to me, looking out for me, fixing me supper, making sure I did my homework, mending my clothes when they tore. When I needed clothes, she bought them for me.

"She was good to me. When the time came, it was Miss Lillian who told me the facts of life that my daddy couldn't address... she took me shopping for my first bra, in fact." Lee-Anne smiled faintly at the memory. "Made an event out of it, too. We went shopping at the small department store in town that had a little restaurant in its basement where you could order lunch. We ordered chicken salad sandwiches on toast and Coke floats to celebrate my first brassiere! Where I grew up, no one ever went out to eat - too expensive. But she said, 'Lee-Anne, you're a young woman now, and if that ain't something to celebrate, I don't know what is.'"

A look of pain crossed Lee-Anne's features. "Lieutenant, I love that woman as much as I loved my real momma."

"What about your brother?" asked Frank.

"Bradley... well, he always went his own way. He's eight years older than me, and when momma died, he was old enough to leave. He never had much to do with the Ralstons. He joined the service and just left town. It was years before I saw him again. Momma's death was hard on him... he was close to her and never got on with daddy very well. So, he just up and left one day. Didn't even say goodbye. I cried when I found out he was gone... he was my big brother, you know. I just worshipped him."

Lee-Anne paused, remembering, and then continued. "Daddy never forgave him for leaving; he told me to just stop my crying, and that Bradley was no good and would never amount to much.

"Well, I wonder what Daddy would say if he could see Bradley now… he was wrong about him. He judged the boy too harsh."

Horatio's expression was one of skepticism, but he decided to let the statement stand for the moment. "Mrs. Braxton, tell us more about your relationship with Miss Ralston. We are trying to understand why she came to see you."

"My relationship with Savannah was always one of affection, Lieutenant. I think she saw me as a big sister.

"She was such a sweet baby," recalled Lee-Anne, smiling at the memory. "When I was a little girl in school, I counted the hours until I could leave the classroom and go to Miss Lillian's house and hold that baby. I used to pretend she was my own. I'd help Miss Lillian feed her and change her diapers... I'd sing to her and rock her to sleep. I loved how she'd look up at me with wonder and love in her bright eyes.

"When Savannah got older she used to follow me all over the place! She was my little shadow. When I was old enough to wear make-up, she'd watch me and say "Do me, Lee-Anne! Please! Make me pretty too!' It was just so dear."

Lee-Anne fell silent, sadly remembering that little blond-haired girl that followed her everywhere and who was now grown up and lying in the Medical Examiner's morgue... waiting for her momma to come and claim her abused body.

"You said earlier that your husband didn't know Miss Ralston… were you living near Jacob's Creek when you first became acquainted with him? Seems odd he wouldn't know her..." remarked Frank.

Lee-Anne's countenance darkened and her eyes fell to the hands that crumpled and then smoothed the handkerchief in her lap. "Sir, I am not sure I want to say anything more at this point."

Frank frowned. "Ma'am, you can talk to us here, willingly... or we can get a subpoena and you can talk to us at headquarters. Your choice."

Horatio said nothing, continuing to study Mrs. Braxton intently. _What is she hiding?_

"You must understand... what I am about to tell you... it's very personal," she whispered, brokenly. "Can you promise me that this information will not leave this room?"

Horatio tilted his head and leaned forward, his hands folded and dangling between his knees. "Mrs. Braxton, I can't promise you that. If possible and if it doesn't compromise the investigation, I can assure you of discretion.

"But, you have to understand that you don't have a choice here... there has been a murder committed and we will explore all leads in an effort to catch Miss Ralston's killer. If you prefer, you can have an attorney present... "

Dully, Lee-Anne shook her head. "No. It doesn't matter. I guess I always knew it would come out. Some day. Foolish of me, I guess. The past never really does remain the 'past,' does it?"

She looked so sad that Horatio, despite his cynicism about the church and its leaders, felt a stirring of compassion. He said nothing, but watched as she continued speaking, her manner resigned.

"When my daddy died, my brother came back into my life. I guess I was about 19 or so. He started writing me letters, telling me he had experienced a change of heart, wanting to make peace with Daddy. He had heard Bobby preach and had accepted the Lord, and he was now traveling around the south with Bobby's boys, helping him with the revival meetings.

"When Bobby came to Georgia to hold several meetings near Jacob's Creek, Bradley came home to see me. Daddy had died by that time. It was sad because it would have lightened his heart to see how serious Bradley had become. He was so grown up... wearing a fine suit, speaking like a gentleman... so changed from the unhappy southern boy who had abandoned his family.

"I tell you truly, gentlemen, I never much had a heart for God back in those days. I was pretty bitter that He let my momma die… and die hard, at that... that He let my brother go off and leave us... that He watched my daddy work himself to an early grave... I didn't consider Him a friend of mine, and that's the truth. I had no use for Him.

"But Bradley… he seemed… different, and told me how he'd been touched by the Spirit. And he said he wanted that for me, too. He was so persuasive... and the change in him so evident... that he convinced me to go to one of Bobby's meetings… and that is how I met Bobby Braxton.

"The first time I heard that man preach, I felt… electrified! I felt like someone had turned on a switch deep inside me that I never knew was there!" Lee-Anne's eyes lit up with excitement as she recalled that evening, almost a decade ago.

"He spoke of things so near to my heart that I thought he was speaking to me… spoke of feeling bitter and powerless, unable to do anything or be anybody. He talked about being angry with God, and how God understood our anger and hurt, and was waiting to grab us back into His arms." Lee-Anne stopped for a moment and regarded Horatio and Frank seriously. "Bobby is a great man, gentlemen. He has the light of the Spirit shining strong within him. Nonbelievers can't see it, but it's so. He's been chosen for great things."

Waving a hand ringed in gold and diamonds toward the large window and indicating the huge campus that was the Harvest Souls Congregation, she said, "All you have to do is look around and see what he's accomplished to understand that. It's an amazing thing… all this, and in such a short time... surely, it's the work of God! From revival meetings to this… yes, an amazing thing.

"And so," she continued, "that night I accepted the Lord and was baptized in a small river. All around me, people were willingly going up to Bobby's boys and being dipped beneath the water and prayed over… but Bradley led me straight up to Bobby, himself. Bobby looked deep into my eyes, put an arm around my shoulders, and dipped me underneath that water lightning fast… and brought me right back up. When he looked again into my eyes, I felt he saw directly into my heart, and he said, 'Lee-Anne Quaid, tonight you are a new woman under a new covenant. All your past sins have been washed away. I can see the Spirit at work in you already, Miss Quaid - He has great things in mind for you.' And he was right… I felt clean and new. I felt hopeful and, for the first time in my life, worth something... empowered."

A cynical look on his face, Frank stole a glance at Horatio who raised a brow in response.

"Mrs. Braxton, I take it that you and Mr. Braxton began seeing one another after that?" inquired Horatio.

"No… he was married at the time. Several weeks later, his wife died in an automobile accident. Tragic thing. We began seeing one another about a year later when Bradley asked me to become a part of Bobby's ministry. It was a whirlwind courtship for me and Bobby… we married in six months. We knew it was the right thing to do."

"God told you, huh?" asked Frank sarcastically. Horatio threw his partner a warning glance, but Frank simply shrugged his shoulders.

Lee-Anne tilted her head, and sized Frank up. "Well, Detective Tripp, it is true that we felt the Lord was moving us toward our union. We prayed about it. In the end, we were convinced it was God's will for us."

"I'm sure," Frank replied.

Horatio interrupted, "Mrs. Braxton, during this time… did you still see Savannah or Lillian Ralston?"

Lee-Anne paused, and Horatio could see she was struggling with what she was about to say. "Lieutenant, it's complicated."

"Take your time, ma'am."

Lee-Anne nodded, and haltingly put into words the story of those long ago events. "Before I met Bobby, I was involved with a boy in Jacob's Creek. He was kind of sweet and kind of wild… I thought he was just about the most wonderful boy in the world though – I was crazy about him. As I said, this was before I met Bobby and before I knew the Lord.

"But… oh, we were in love… we talked about getting married one day. He was given to drinking too much, though... and partying. It was a family weakness... all the men in his family were a little wild. And... one night he got a little bit drunk… and he wound up in a bar fight."

Her eyes looked sad. "He was stabbed by one of his buddies. Two dumb kids, drinking too much… got in an argument… and… that boy I loved died. His buddy went to prison for a few years. I blamed God about him, too, if you want to know the truth. It was Bradley who convinced me not to let this thing kill my spirit... and it was one of the arguments he used that got me to that first revival meeting. I tell you truly, when that boy died... I was pretty torn up and lost."

Lee-Anne gazed out the large window overlooking the church grounds and sighed. "A month after I was baptized, I learned I was pregnant with that poor boy's baby. It broke my heart."

Horatio's brows drew together, and he looked up at Frank, who seemed surprised by the news. This wasn't in any of the background information on the Braxtons. "Mrs. Braxton, I don't recall reading that you and Mr. Braxton have any children…"

Lee-Anne looked Horatio in the eye. "We don't," she replied flatly.

XXXXX

_Horatio's house..._

Busy with packing up some items to take back to her condo, Lauren was absently humming that little Sinatra tune about having 'the world on a string.' She was in a happy frame of mind - a new job on the horizon, and the misunderstanding with Horatio about the position with the senator now resolved. She smiled as she thought back to the events of the night before.

_Horatio had returned late, and Lauren had fallen asleep waiting for him. But she'd heard her lover slip quietly into the room, careful not to disturb her, and change out of his clothes. Behind half-closed eyes, she silently regarded him in the darkness of the room, not yet willing to divulge that she was awake. Carefully, he slipped into the bed, his naked body warm against hers, and he leaned in, gently kissing her cheek. He had been about to roll over and go to sleep himself when she playfully raised up and teasingly nipped the lobe of his ear. "Did you think you were going to avoid me that easily, Lieutenant?" she whispered._

_Surprised, Horatio took her into his arms. "I thought you were sleeping! I hated to wake you, love, you looked so contented."_

_Moving her tongue teasingly toward the sensitive, inner part of his ear, she softly replied, "I would say I am feeling a whole lot more contented right now."_

_" "Contented,' hmm? Let's see if we can come up with something a little more... exciting... than that," he replied as his knowing hands began to move enticingly over her body. Feeling the pleasing rush of warmth, her mouth began answering his caresses with a welcomed movement of its own._

Suddenly, Lauren was jarred from the warm, happy memories of the night before by a loud, impatient knocking on Horatio's door._ Good grief! Now who can that be at 11 am? _she wondered.

The angry, persistent knocking continued and, not pausing to consider the dozens of sensible reasons she shouldn't respond, she rushed over and opened the door.

"Well," said the amused, mocking voice. "You're certainly not the cleaning woman... so you must be Horatio's... 'friend.'

"You're not deaf, are you? I was beginning to think no one was home. Now, where's Horatio? Tell him I want to see him. Now."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen - Reality Bites

_Lee-Anne Braxton's Office..._

Horatio blinked several times as he digested Lee-Anne's statement that she and the Pastor had no children. "The child, Mrs. Braxton... did it not survive?"

He watched as the woman's throat visibly convulsed as though she were trying to swallow a painful lump of tears in her throat. She rose from the chair and walked quickly toward the window. Looking out, she quietly replied, "The baby survived, Lieutenant."

"I don't understand, Mrs. Braxton," replied Frank. "Did you give the child up for adoption?"

A heavy sigh escaped from Lee-Anne, and she turned to face the two men. "When I learned I was pregnant, I had no place to go and no money. My daddy was dead. Bradley, at that point, had moved on; he and Bobby were traveling all over Georgia and parts of North and South Carolina. He didn't know I was pregnant... and I didn't tell him. Bradley had his life... I had mine. The way I figured it, Bradley had run away from me and Daddy when I was little and things were rough - and I guess I didn't expect much help from him. Bradley may have changed, but with Daddy gone, I felt I was pretty much on my own. Maybe that was wrong of me, but I wasn't exactly thinking clearly in those days.

"It was a hard time for me... I was scared. The pregnancy wasn't an easy one; I was sick during much of it. I had no one but Miss Lillian to help me. And her own life was difficult enough. She and Savannah lived in an old trailer on the outskirts of town. All it had was a tiny kitchen, small sitting area, bathroom and two small bedrooms - one belonged to Miss Lillian, the other to Savannah. During that time, I moved into Savannah's little room and she slept with her momma."

"What about Mr. Ralston?" asked Frank.

"Mr. Ralston?" Lee-Anne laughed shortly. "There was no 'Mr. Ralston' - he left his family long before I ever knew Miss Lillian. That's the way it was where I grew up, Detective. Lots of men ran out on their responsibilities, especially when times got hard. That's what made my daddy so special... no matter how hard life was, he never ran out on me. But that wasn't the way it was for most of the folks I grew up with."

"How old was Savannah at the time, Mrs. Braxton?" inquired Horatio. "How did she react to your moving in with them?"

Lee-Anne walked over to her chair and sat down, her brow knit with sadness. "Savannah was almost ten years old. She was fine... no, she was happy, having me there. She loved me, Lieutenant. With Daddy gone and Bradley traveling around with Bobby and the boys... well, Savannah and her momma were my family."

"So, your brother didn't know you were pregnant," said Frank. "And Mr. Braxton? Did he know?"

"No, I wasn't involved with him then," she said, leaning her head back against the chair and closing her eyes. "At the time, no one knew - just Miss Lillian and Savannah."

Lee-Anne opened her eyes, and regarded Horatio sadly. "Lieutenant, right about that time, I had a... well, I guess you'd call it a nervous breakdown. I couldn't get out of bed in the morning... couldn't muster the strength, you know? Everything seemed hard... too much trouble. Sometimes, it would be afternoon before I could even get up the energy to brush my teeth and wash my face. Everything seemed dark and hopeless...

"And bitter? I was so bitter. I wondered how God could have deserted me after I'd given my heart to Him. I was in my own garden of Gethsemane, I don't mind telling you. It was a black, bitter time."

Horatio, no stranger to dark times, understood the despair that might be felt by a young unwed girl with no husband or means of support. Lee-Anne glimpsed a compassion in his eyes she hadn't expected to see, and found she was able to go on with her story.

"When I was eight months along and big as a house, I went into an early labor. It was long and hard.

"But then... I held that beautiful baby in my arms... and my heart just took over. I knew I wasn't alone. I had somebody of my own... somebody worth fighting for... and worth doing for..."

Lee-Anne smiled sadly. "I named her 'Danene' - her daddy's name was 'Daniel' - it was the only thing I was able to give her that came from him."

"What happened to the little girl?" asked Frank.

Lee-Anne shook her head, unable to speak.

Horatio spoke softly. "Mrs. Braxton, when you asked us earlier if Mrs. Ralston would be coming alone to Miami to identify Savannah's body, you were thinking about Danene, weren't you? Is Danene living with Mrs. Ralston? Is she the little girl that people regard as Savannah's younger sister?"

Lee-Anne simply nodded, and with the crumpled handkerchief, she swiped at the tears that had suddenly appeared in her eyes.

Frank and Horatio glanced at one another. Finally, Frank said, "Mr. Braxton... he still doesn't know about the little girl?"

Getting herself under control, the troubled woman shook her head 'no.'

"And your brother," continued Horatio, "does he now know about Danene?"

Lee-Anne nodded and with difficulty went on. "A few months after Danene was born, Bradley came back to Georgia because Bobby was going to hold a few more revival meetings. By that time, Mrs. Braxton had died, and Bobby and the boys were talking about moving the ministry to Miami... they wanted to settle the church in one place instead of continuing to move from town to town. Bobby was gaining a large following and he had ambitions to set up a television ministry.

"Bradley came to see me, and he was shocked when he saw I had a baby girl. He was so upset with me, and we had a big argument. Told me I had ruined everything...

"This sounds pretty bad, Lieutenant, but the truth is that Bradley knew Bobby was lonely when his wife died... and he had it in his mind that Bobby... saw something he liked in me that long ago night he baptized me. Bradley had set his heart on bringing the two of us together... and, now... well, how was that going to happen when I had a baby who didn't have a daddy?"

Horatio's expression slightly hardened. He could see where this story was going, and he didn't like it. While he had initially empathized with her plight, the idea that Lee-Anne had willingly abandoned the child for her own gain filled him with contempt. Something in his eyes flickered, and Lee-Anne, sensing his sudden disapproval, quickly sought to explain.

"I can imagine what you're thinking, Lieutenant, and it's not like that. I loved that little girl... I still love her... but what kind of life could I give her as a poor, unwed momma? The hard reality is that I did what I had to do... for me... and for Danene."

For a moment, Horatio said nothing, drilling her with his eyes. Finally, he replied softly, "No, Mrs. Braxton, the reality is that you abandoned that child and left her to live with strangers in a poor part of Georgia... " Horatio paused and looked around the elegant, expensively furnished office, "While you live... _like this_?"

"No! No, I didn't abandon her to strangers! I left her with family! Miss Lillian loved her - just like she loved me!

"You have to understand, Bradley was convinced I had a bigger role to play in life... as Bobby's wife, I could be an asset to him, to the church. It seemed so clear... It was a way to take care of my baby and also help a great man, a lonely man.

"He made me see that Bobby could never know about the baby... I guess that sounds bad. But what could I do? What would people say if they knew Bobby's wife had a child while unmarried? People... well, some religious people... can be so judgmental about that kind of thing, and Bobby was building his ministry. I couldn't risk it...

"I love Danene, Lieutenant... but I couldn't stay there... I just couldn't. I asked Miss Lillian to raise Danene as her own. And she did... she loves that little girl like she loved me! She knew I loved my baby, but she knew I couldn't stay... and that I couldn't take Danene with me. It was better that Danene stay with her... better for everyone."

"'Better for everyone...'" repeated Horatio in wonder, shaking his head. "Well, it certainly seems to have been better for you..."

"Mrs. Braxton," Frank continued, "after you joined the ministry and married Mr. Braxton, did you have any further contact with the Ralstons?"

"Of course I did. I kept in touch with them... I bought them a house with some property, and I set Miss Lillian up in a day care business. She always liked taking care of children and this was something she wanted.

"I continue to send money to them monthly to take care of their needs as well as Danene's... and Miss Lillian sends me letters about Danene... and photographs. I make sure they are all provided for! I didn't abandon my baby girl!"

"You provided financially for her, perhaps... but you did abandon that child, Mrs. Braxton," responded Horatio, "and made a nice life for yourself in the process. Did you ever try to see her? Does she even know who you are?"

Stung, Lee-Anne glared at him. "How dare you judge me, Lieutenant! You don't know what it's like to be poor, unwed, with a baby. You don't know anything."

Horatio said nothing, continuing to stare at her.

Frank looked at Lee-Anne. "Is it correct to assume that you had no _physical_ contact with the Ralstons until the day that Savannah Ralston came to see you here, at the church?"

Lee-Anne nodded wearily. "Yes. A few days ago I was surprised to learn that Savannah was in the lobby asking for me.. I hadn't seen her since I left Georgia, although I'd kept in touch with her momma."

"And what did you discuss?" asked Horatio.

Lee-Anne looked unhappy. "Blackmail, Lieutenant... we discussed blackmail."

XXXXX

_Horatio's house..._

Startled by the presence of the stranger at Horatio's door, Lauren stared at the beautiful woman standing before her, puzzled by her demanding attitude. She noticed how strangely inappropriate the woman's clothing was for early morning - a silky black, body-hugging sheath with a plunging neckline revealing more than Lauren felt comfortable viewing.

Lauren, clad in faded skinny jeans, tee-shirt, and tennis shoes, her face scrubbed clean of make-up and her long blond hair gathered up in a ponytail, felt insignificant as the woman's eyes coolly surveyed and then dismissed her. Lauren was confused that the stranger seemed to know who she was, certain they had never met. After an awkward moment or two of perplexed surprise, it suddenly occurred to Lauren that this was Kyle's mother.

"Mrs. Saris?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes, _'Mrs. Saris,_'" Julia replied in a queer mocking tone, and walked past Lauren into Horatio's house. Looking about, she began calling his name, "Horatio? Horatio? I need to speak with you!"

Lauren watched Julia, both fascinated and concerned. So, this was Horatio's long ago lover; she had often wondered about her. While Horatio seldom spoke of her, Lauren realized Julia had once been very important to him, and that she would continue to be an important part of Horatio's life because she was Kyle's mother. Still, she wasn't what Lauren expected... she used her sexuality so blatantly. _Very glamorous_, she thought, _but not someone I would have expected Horatio to be involved with... _

Continuing to study the agitated woman who was now pacing about Horatio's living room, Lauren was struck by an oddness in Julia's movements that she hadn't initially noticed. The woman seemed overwrought and jumpy, and her eyes looked strange, unable to focus on anything for any length of time.

Closing the door, Lauren approached her, saying gently, "Mrs. Saris, I'm not sure what made you think Horatio would be at home this time of day... he's at the Crime Lab. Have you tried to call him?"

Julia seemed confused for a few seconds, and it was apparent to Lauren she was having difficulty focusing on what Lauren was saying. She stopped pacing momentarily and looked at Lauren. Suddenly she asked, "Are you living here?"

Caught off guard by the question, Lauren responded. "No... no, I'm not."

"So what are you doing here if Horatio's not home? What are you hiding? Did he force you to tell me he isn't here?" Turning away from Lauren, she started walking briskly toward the back of the house where the bedroom was located. "John! John!"

Hurrying to catch up with Julia who was checking the rooms in the back of the house, calling for someone named 'John,' Lauren sought to calm her and to convince her that no one else was in the house. "Please, Mrs. Saris, please have a seat in the living room. There is no one named John here... and Horatio isn't home right now... but I'll call him for you, okay?"

Julia paused and regarded Lauren suspiciously. "Are you certain he isn't here?"

"He's not; I promise you! Now, please, sit down for a moment. Let me get you something cool to drink. Would you like some water or iced tea?"

Julia reluctantly followed Lauren into the living room, looking about for Horatio's presence as she did so.

She regarded Lauren with cool appraisal. "I want a drink... a glass of wine."

Dismayed, Lauren replied, "It's not quite noon - don't you think iced tea might be better?"

"Are you my mother?" she asked, with narrowed eyes.

"Let's call Horatio, and then I'll get you a glass, okay?" temporized Lauren, not sure what else to do. She could see Julia was acting irrationally; she should have realized Horatio would be at work at this hour. Julia's eyes kept flickering about her surroundings as if she expected someone - _Horatio?_ - to suddenly appear, and her fingers curled and uncurled as they pressed tightly at her sides.

_Something isn't right_, Lauren realized. _Has she been drinking? Or is this a manic episode?_

Julia continued to apprehensively look about the room, but she reluctantly sat down. Still, Lauren had the feeling that at any minute the troubled woman would jump up from her seat and begin pacing again, calling for Horatio. In Julia's presence, she reached for her cell and keyed in Horatio's number, listening with dismay as the call rolled over to voicemail.

Julia watched her as Lauren left a message: "Horatio, I'm at your house still... Mrs. Saris is here with me. I really need you to call me... as soon as possible. She's upset... and wants to see you."

Concluding the message, she turned to Julia. "I'm sure he'll call as soon as he can. Let me get you something while we wait... please, wouldn't you rather have some iced tea? Mrs. Saris... you don't seem well," she said to her earnestly, genuine concern written across her features.

Ignoring Lauren's words, Julia stood up again, and began pacing about once more. With agitation, she started speaking to herself; it seemed she had forgotten Lauren was in the room, and she repeatedly murmured a distorted mantra. "He always interferes. And he lies... John... Horatio... Why can't he leave me be? Why doesn't he leave me alone? He is going to ruin this for me. I won't let him ruin this... I said I'd fix this... and I will. I need to fix this. Why can't he just leave me alone?"

Not quite understanding that Julia had forgotten her presence, Lauren asked, "Who? Horatio? Mrs. Saris, Horatio cares about you. He isn't trying to cause you any trouble."

Julia stopped abruptly, and looked at Lauren. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Where's John?"

Beginning to feel frightened and wishing Horatio would call, Lauren replied soothingly, "I'm Lauren, Horatio's friend. Remember? There is no one named John here. Please, Mrs. Saris, Horatio isn't here right now. We called him, remember? I'm sure he'll call us soon. Please sit down... everything is going to be okay. Let's have something cool to drink."

More concerned than ever about Julia's state of mind and her apparent inability to grasp reality, Lauren was afraid to let the fretful woman out of her sight, worried she might leave and that something would happen to her. Lauren slowly held out her hand to Julia and kindly beckoned toward the kitchen. "Why don't we sit down at the table, okay? Have you had anything to eat today? Let's eat something... I'm pretty hungry... maybe you are, too."

Julia tilted her head, regarding Lauren with suspicion. "Why are you being so nice to me? What do you know? Are you hiding something from me? You know, he has plans..."

Lauren was having difficulty keeping up with the turns in the conversation. "Plans? Who has plans?"

"John has plans. He doesn't want me to be happy. He wants to control me. You see, he still cares about me... he'll never let me go," she confided, as if she were sharing an important secret.

_Who is John?_ Not knowing how to respond, Lauren opened the refrigerator door and reached for the pitcher of tea.

"Are you sleeping with him?" asked Julia abruptly. "He'll never marry you. He's broken. Always has been... making up names, changing identities... He's a little crazy... you know, it takes crazy to recognize crazy... Do you know about his family? They're all crazy…"

Feeling uncomfortable, Lauren began to pour the tea. Lauren found Julia's abrupt changes in mood and conversation eerily upsetting and frightening. And yet, she was filled with compassion for her. She seemed so child-like, and so lost and confused... disoriented. Vulnerable. Lauren was worried what might happen to her if she left before seeing or speaking with Horatio.

She handed Julia the glass of tea, disconcerted by the malice she now glimpsed in the woman's eyes. _Horatio_, she begged inwardly, _please, please, please call me!_

XXXXX

_Lee-Anne Braxton's office_

"Lieutenant," continued Lee-Ann, "Are you familiar with Juan Alvarez?"

Horatio nodded. Alvarez was one of the country's leading investigative journalists, and one of _Sixty Minutes_' most recognizable reporters.

"Mr. Alvarez has focused his radar on our ministry," continued Lee-Anne. "He's been in Jacob's Creek over the past few months... sniffing around for a story... talking to anyone who might have known me or Bradley when we were growing up.

"Savannah told me Mr. Alvarez had tried to see Miss Lillian, but she'd have nothing to do with him... but... Savannah..."

"But Savannah felt differently about speaking to Mr. Alvarez?" guessed Horatio.

Lee-Anne nodded sadly. "Yes... yes, she did. She told me she was considering talking to him... about Danene."

"I don't get it," said Frank. "You've been telling us how much you loved each other and all that stuff about Savannah following you about as a kid, always wanting to be near you... so why, after... what, eight? nine years?... she suddenly wants to put the dirt out on you?"

Lee-Anne nodded again. "I know, I know... it doesn't make any sense on the face of it. She did love me, Detective... and I... well, I don't really think that changed, not really... but I imagine Mr. Alvarez was... very persuasive. He's an attractive man and a charming one."

"Do you think she became involved with Alvarez?" asked Horatio, who suddenly felt the phone in his pocket begin to vibrate. Ignoring it, he focused on the woman sitting across from him.

"No," she replied, "but I think Savannah may have been persuaded to believe that she and Miss Lillian were entitled to a better life than they had... and that I owed it to them to provide it. I always thought I'd done well by them... Miss Lillian seemed happy with her home, the day care business, and the money I sent. But I guess, after a time... it didn't seem all that much to Savannah."

Studying her, Horatio realized that Lee-Anne Braxton was genuinely hurt that Savannah had seemingly turned on her. It didn't seem to occur to her that Savannah might feel aggrieved that Lee-Anne had so much while she and her mother, who kept Lee-Anne's secrets, had such a modest lifestyle. If ever there was a candidate for self-delusion, it was this woman.

"So, Savannah approached you for more money to continue to keep quiet about the little girl?" asked Frank. "Pretty convenient for you that she's dead, huh? Did you kill her, Mrs. Braxton?"

"What? Are you insane? Of course not! I would never hurt Savannah! I loved her... in spite of the threats. I was going to give her the money. I know how much I owe to Miss Lillian... and to her. They took me in when I needed a home. They gave my girl a home. Do you think I'd forget that?"

"I don't know," said Frank, "did you?"

Horatio smoothly interrupted. "Mrs. Braxton, did you share with Mr. Quaid the threats made by Savannah?"

Lee-Anne appeared troubled. "Yes, I did. But surely you don't think Bradley had anything to do with Savannah's death? He would never hurt her... he wouldn't harm anyone."

"How about your husband? Any chance he found out about your daughter and wanted to keep a lid on the story?" questioned Frank.

"My husband knows nothing about Danene. I'm sure of it."

She looked very sad. "But I guess I'm going to have to tell him now, aren't I?"

Horatio said nothing, and he and Frank rose to leave Mrs. Braxton's office. As they turned toward the door, Horatio's eyes fixed once again on the low bookcase across the room and the empty leaded frame hanging from a small pedestal on the top shelf.

"Mrs. Braxton, what is that over there, on the bookcase?" he asked, gesturing toward the item.

"Oh, that," she replied in an offhand manner, her mind still troubled by the conversation with the two officers, "That was a small stained glass panel that was given to me by the president of the company that provided the church's stained glass windows. It was a miniature glass panel of a snow white dove flying toward heaven. It was beautiful."

"Was?"

"Yes, several days ago I came into the office and the panel had somehow been knocked over and the glass shattered. Fragments were all over the place. It was a mess. Now all I have left is the leaded frame. Bobby saw the shattered glass, and knowing how I'd loved it, he promised we'd replace it."

XXXXX

Walking toward the Hummer, Horatio was more quiet than usual. "Horatio," asked Frank, "you okay?"

He smiled at his friend. "I'm fine. But this is an ugly one. I don't think that woman understands her own... lack of responsibility in this matter. All those public prayers for others, the visions, the faith-healing... yet unable to admit to her husband that as a young girl she'd gotten into trouble and had a child. There is certainly a disconnect here with reality."

"Yeah. I'm thinking that as time went by, it became harder for her since more was at stake... this could have wrecked Braxton's operation if Alvarez went public with Savannah's story. You think the 'good sister' did it?"

"No, I don't. But I am not ruling out Quaid."

"Well, Mrs. Braxton said he was with Braxton at their meeting with the investors downtown... you want to bring him in?"

"Yes, Frank... I think we have grounds for bringing him in for some questioning. Let's do it."

"What about Braxton - you want to bring him in, too?"

"Not yet; let's speak with Mr. Quaid first."

Frank nodded. "H, you mind if I ask one of the guys to bring him in?"

Horatio raised a brow questioningly.

Frank loosened his tie, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "I really want to check on Lucy..."

Horatio nodded, understanding. "Okay, Frank. I'll send Mr. Wolfe."

"Thanks, Horatio."

Horatio pulled his cell out and glanced at his missed calls and saw one was from Lauren. Believing it was a call to say hello, Horatio decided to listen to the message later, and he and Frank got into the Hummer and pulled away from the church grounds.

Continuing to discuss the case, neither man noticed an old silver car following them from a safe distance.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen - Rivers of Darkness and Confusion

_Outside the Miami Dade Crime Lab..._

Watching Frank drive away, Horatio turned to enter the building just as Ryan Wolfe and Eric Delko were leaving it.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged, tilting his head. "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah, H, to lunch. Interested?" asked Ryan, not placing much hope in the possibility that their workaholic boss would join them for a bite to eat. He also wondered if he and Eric now had any hopes of lunch.

"Sorry, Mr. Wolfe, no time, I'm afraid... and I'm afraid your own lunch is going to be an abbreviated one. I need you to pick up a suspect for questioning... a Mr. Bradley Quaid."

"Quaid, huh?" asked Eric. "Can't say I'm too surprised."

"Then I will leave you to it," Horatio replied abruptly. "Eric, fill Ryan in on what you know about Quaid. I'd suggest you wait for him to return to the church; he's in a meeting downtown at present, but likely to return soon. When you bring him in, let me know. I have some questions for Mr. Quaid."

"Sure thing, H. On our way." Eric watched as Horatio turned and entered the building. He could tell the boss was in a sour frame of mind, and wondered what he'd since learned about Quaid that had so poisoned his mood.

Ryan shook his head. "Do you think he was lying in wait for us? Doesn't he ever eat? I just wanted to get a corned beef on rye and some fries... "

Eric laughed. "Come on, you won't starve. We'll grab something on the way."

Horatio walked into his office and took a look at the Ralston file which was resting on his desk. Idly, he opened it, looking at the photos of Savannah Ralston that had been taken at the crime scene. He thought of Mrs. Ralston coming down from Georgia to identify her daughter's body, and shook his head and frowned. He wasn't looking forward to talking with the bereft mother. It was an aspect of his job he always found difficult.

Needing a lift, he pulled out his phone, now having a few private moments to listen to Lauren's message. Recalling her sweet, warm nature and the night they'd shared, a smile stole across his face as he touched the playback key and listened to the familiar voice begin speaking. However, as he heard her words and the tone of her voice, his smile quickly faded. Senselessly, he berated himself for not listening to the message earlier and he quickly called her.

She picked up on the first ring, and Horatio immediately recognized the underlying currents of tension in her voice even though she tried to sound calm.

"Lauren, what's going on there?" he asked, his tone clipped and urgent.

"Horatio, Mrs. Saris is here to see you... she is sitting across from me... she's very anxious to talk with you."

"Sweetheart, are things okay? You sound upset... is Julia acting strangely?"

He noted the uneasy pause before she again began to speak. "I think you need to come home now, okay? We're... fine, but you need to come home... as soon as possible."

Walking briskly from the office and toward the elevator, he replied, "I'm on my way. I'll be there in twenty minutes, less if I can manage it."

"Good," said the relieved voice. "We'll see you when you get here."

Horatio terminated the call and quickly headed toward the Hummer. _Damn it! Why didn't I pick up the call earlier? Just what is going on there?_

He hated to think of Lauren having to deal with Julia by herself... especially if Julia was experiencing a manic episode. He'd immediately picked up on the uncertainty in Lauren's voice as she said she was okay. He'd never known Julia to be a violent person, and he wasn't really worried about that... the only person he'd ever known Julia to hurt was herself. Still, he hated that Lauren was in this situation. He was used to Julia's erratic mood swings and, experienced as he was, he still found her difficult to deal with; he wondered how Lauren was coping.

He pulled onto the highway and put his foot down on the gas pedal... hard. Again he inwardly chastised himself for not listening to Lauren's message as soon as the interview with Mrs. Braxton had concluded. He knew such feelings were unreasonable: what's done is done. Still, he was very uneasy.

XXXXX

_Frank Tripp's apartment building..._

Jerry Price sat outside the detective's apartment building, hardly able to believe his luck.

Like a pit of writhing vipers, a host of dark thoughts warred for prominence in his disturbed brain. Vaguely, he watched two young girls playing hopscotch out in front of the apartment building while his mind went over the events of the last hour.

Jerry had followed Tripp and his companion when they left the church; the distinctive Hummer had made its way back to the Miami Dade Crime Lab where the detective had gotten out of the car, headed to his own vehicle and then drove away. Maintaining a safe distance, Jerry had followed him to a grocery store not far from where the detective lived. The tall Texan went inside the store and, after fifteen minutes, came out, carrying a bag of groceries and flowers.

_Flowers?_

_Really?_

A grim pleasure slowly found expression on Jerry's face as he thought about the flowers the detective carried - a simple bunch of pink and white carnations. As he contemplated the possible meaning behind the mid-day visit to the food store and the flowers, a chilling smile began to spread across Jerry's face. _Flowers. How... interesting..._

The detective had gotten into his car and headed to his apartment building. Once he arrived, Tripp grabbed the groceries and the bouquet and entered the building.

Jerry continued to smile with dark amusement as he sat quietly in his forgettable vehicle, absently watching the two little girls playing their game. _Flowers... is it really going to be this easy?_ he wondered. _Is Lucy in the detective's apartment? How deliciously simple._ It was the last place he would have expected the detective to have hidden her.

Suddenly the self-satisfied smile left Price's face. What was his wife doing there? _Playing house?_

He frowned and his fingers began to convulsively grip the steering wheel of his car, his knuckles white beneath the skin. _The lying little slut! Playing games again? Well, we'll see about that._

XXXXX

_The apartment..._

Not wanting to frighten the woman inside, Frank softly knocked and called out her name before unlocking the door and entering the apartment. "Lucy, it's me."

Not knowing what else to do with her day, Lucy had been sitting on the detective's sofa in front of the television, watching an old Bette Davis movie about a woman in love with a married man. Hearing the knock on the door, her left hand spasmodically reached for something under the sofa cushion. Finally realizing who it was that was calling her name, Lucy relaxed and withdrew her hand from beneath the cushion, and she smiled nervously when Frank entered the room. "Frank," she said, relieved, "I didn't expect you to be home this early."

"Well, I have to go back to work, but wanted to check on you... see how you were doing." He paused, uncomfortably. "I was worried how you might be making out."

He sat the bag of groceries on the table near the apartment's small dining room window, and looked at the flowers wrapped in florist paper that he was holding in his other hand. "Uh... I thought you could use some cheering up," he said abruptly, handing the flowers to her. "They're for you."

Surprised, Lucy looked at the pink and white carnations and then into the face of the man standing before her. An awkward expression of embarrassed tenderness defined his features before he quickly turned away. Lucy didn't know what to make of the flowers... she couldn't remember Jerry ever saying he was worried about her... and he certainly never brought her flowers. Her heart suddenly warmed at the kindness of this man who had been a stranger to her just days before.

"Thank you, Frank," she said quietly and sincerely. "I think they're lovely. How kind of you!"

The big man nodded and said nothing, but Lucy could tell he was pleased that she was so taken with the bouquet.

Fingering the petals of one of the larger of the pink carnations, she asked, "Frank, have you heard anything more about Jerry's whereabouts?"

He recognized the worry in her voice and decided to downplay the lack of progress made thus far. Putting away the groceries, he told her nothing had yet turned up. "Truth is, Lucy, it may take several days before they can track him down."

Lucy frowned. "But, Frank, what will I do until then? I can't stay here while we wait for him to be caught... and I have to go back to work."

Frank walked back into the living room and sat down across from her. He looked into her lovely eyes, and, in spite of his own shyness, he pushed back the long, glossy black curl that had fallen onto her forehead, causing the woman to blush. "Look," he said, "let's just take this one day at a time, okay? We don't have to make any decisions right now. Or tomorrow. The weekend will soon be here... I can't believe your employer will be upset if you take another sick day tomorrow. As for staying here, I don't want to hear another word about that. I have the room... and you need a friend. Let me be your friend, Lucy."

"Okay," she said finally, quietly accepting the sincerity and kindness she saw in his eyes. "Thank you, Frank... you're about the best friend I've ever had."

Smiling, Frank sought to change the subject. "Lucy, I just put a bagful of groceries away in that kitchen. You think you could cook us some dinner this evening? Maybe some spaghetti and meatballs? The ingredients are there, and I also brought home some Italian bread. What do you think?"

Realizing the kind man wanted to give her something to do to occupy her time, she smiled. "I think that could be arranged," she said, shyly. "I'm a pretty good cook, actually."

"I bet you are. Look, I have to get back to work... I just wanted to make sure you were okay.

"You have your cell handy?" he asked. She reached under the sofa cushion and pulled it out from underneath.

He looked at her inquiringly, and she blushed as she handed it over. "I put it beneath the cushion so I could get to it if I needed it... and no one would know it was there. I know that's paranoid... "

Frank didn't say anything, just quickly keyed his cell number in. "Look, I meant to do this before I left this morning but forgot. I've just programmed my number to your speed keys... if you need me, you just press "one" and you'll be able to reach me."

He handed the phone back to her, and watched as she carefully slid it back beneath the sofa cushion. "You need me, you call me. Don't think twice... just hit 'one' - got it?"

She nodded, her eyes serious.

He stood up and started to walk toward the door. "Don't forget - don't open that door for anyone, okay?"

"Yes sir," she said with a tentative smile, feeling braver and a bit lighter than she had all day. "See you later, Detective."

XXXXX

_Horatio's house..._

Horatio pulled up to the entrance of his house, and killed the car's engine in the driveway, not even bothering to pull into the garage. He sprinted up the front walk and opened his front door. "Lauren?" he called, walking through the living room.

"We're in here, Horatio," she said from the kitchen. Horatio walked into the kitchen and stopped short. Lauren stood near the sink, clutching a kitchen towel in her hands; Julia was kneeling on the floor, holding her hand, while a knife lay on the floor beside her, along with mangled slices of lemon and a small pool of blood.

Horatio looked at Lauren, who was staring at him, her gray eyes large and frightened in her strained, pale face. "Lauren, what happened here?"

"It happened so fast, Horatio... she said she wanted lemon for her tea. I went to slice up the lemon and she... she grabbed the knife from me and began slicing at the lemon, herself... hacking at it, actually.

"She seemed frenzied... she kept telling me I wasn't doing it right, and then she cut herself and began to cry. She wouldn't give the knife back to me. Horatio, I was so worried she'd hurt herself!"

"Okay, love, calm down," he said quietly to Lauren. "It's going to be okay."

He walked over to Julia, who was slowly rocking back and forth on her knees while keening abstractedly, her voice low and her eyes tightly closed. Streaks of damp mascara stained her cheeks, evidence of shed tears. "Julia? Sweetheart, can you hear me?" he asked softly, descending to one knee beside her.

She opened her eyes and looked at him in confusion. "John? Please help me, John," she said piteously. "I cut my hand... I was trying to... I was trying... trying... I needed to cut the lemon... I kept trying to cut the lemon... I can't make the bleeding stop."

Lauren grabbed a clean towel and handed it to Horatio. Taking the towel from her, he said quietly to Lauren, "Get me a basin of cool water, please... and some bandages... they're in the second bathroom." Quick to comply, Lauren left the room in pursuit of the items Horatio requested.

Julia regarded him through wounded, make-up smeared eyes. "John, what am I doing here? I... I hurt my hand... what am I doing here?"

"Julia, you came here to see me. You told Lauren that you needed to talk with me. Don't you remember?"

Her brow looked troubled and Horatio could see she was having trouble putting the day's events in order. "Julia, have you been taking your medication?" he asked mildly.

Julia tried to turn away, but Horatio gently cupped her face and turned her head so that he could look into her eyes. "You haven't taken it, have you?"

"I don't need it anymore, John... I'm healed now. Bradley told me that God healed my illness... it just takes faith. I can't take that medicine. I try... but I just can't... it makes me feel dead. There's no joy, no excitement. I want to be well... I don't want to be sick... I'm so tired of being sick...

"I just want to be like everyone else," she said dully.

Compassionately, Horatio nodded with understanding. "I know, I know... but you need the medication, Julia. Quaid isn't a doctor. He isn't qualified to pass judgment on your illness."

Julia shook her head rapidly. "But he _is_... he knows I'm healed. I haven't had to take the medication... for... I forget... maybe a few weeks, now." Suddenly, her sad expression changed and a sly look entered her eyes. "He told me you went to see him... about me."

Lauren came back into the room and knelt next to Horatio, handing him the basin of water, bandages and fresh towels. "What can I do?" she whispered, her expression one of concern.

Julia cocked her head. "Who is this woman? Does she live here? I wish she'd go away!"

Horatio sighed. "Lauren, why don't you wait for me in the other room while I get Julia cleaned up."

Lauren looked at Horatio, undecided, but then nodded and did as he asked.

Horatio began to clean the blood from Julia's hands. "Look, Julia, I'm not sure how involved you are with Quaid, but he's not good for you. You need to stay away from him. If he was concerned about your welfare, he wouldn't be encouraging you to stop your medication."

"Did you tell him to stay away from me, John? He was so angry with me... you must leave him alone. Please stay out of this. That's what I came to tell you... I promised Bradley I'd fix this. You need to stay out of this."

Horatio placed a bandage over her hand, relieved the cuts were shallow. Taking a clean towel, he dipped it into the basin, and began to gently wipe the streaks of mascara from her cheeks while she gazed at him like a trusting child. "There, that's much better. How does your hand feel?" he asked.

"It's better. I'm so tired."

Horatio could see proof of that statement in her pale face and slumped shoulders. He stood up and helped her to her feet. "Okay, tell you what. Let's get you home and to bed. We are going to call your doctor, and get your medication straightened out."

She nodded in acquiescence, and it dismayed Horatio to see the numb, defeated look in her eyes. _How had things come to this?_ What happened to the vibrant, exciting woman he once knew? "Wait here for a minute, I'll be right back."

He walked into the living room where Lauren was sitting. Seeing him approach, she rose and stood before him. She smiled faintly. "I heard everything... is she going to be okay, Horatio?"

"Yes, as soon as we get her medication straightened out. This isn't the first time this has happened." He paused, awkwardly. "I need to take her home, get things... taken care of."

"It's okay, honey," she said, brushing back the lock of bright ginger-colored hair that had strayed from its carefully sprayed companions. Something about that stray lock hurt her for reasons she couldn't fully articulate; it seemed, somehow, to bring home to her his vulnerability and the heavy obligations he always placed upon himself. "I understand."

"Do you?" he asked, his blue eyes studying her intently.

"She's Kyle's mother," she replied simply. "Go take care of things. We'll talk later."

Horatio nodded. "I'll call you... after..."

With that, he returned to the kitchen, and prepared to take Julia home.

XXXXX

_Outside Frank Tripp's apartment building..._

Jerry's hand smoothed the faux leather valise that rested on the passenger seat of his car. He repeatedly caressed the bag's material, his mind focused on the detective still inside the building. As he contemplated his options, he was slightly aware of the giggles and chattering of the girls on the front walk of the building, still playing their game of hopscotch.

_Games_, he thought. _Everything is always a game._

For example, the game now was how to get inside the detective's apartment and find out if Lucy was there. Should he capitalize on the advantage of surprise, and try to enter the apartment while the detective was inside? If he confronted him, how would that go down?

Again, Jerry lovingly ran his fingers over the valise, his eyes touching on it briefly before again resuming their observation of the front of the building.

Perhaps he should wait until the detective left the building and just walk in and knock on his door... and wait for Lucy, if she was there, to open it. _Surprise, baby_, he thought with a grin.

But no... it was unlikely she'd answer the door... the detective probably left her instructions not to answer. Who knows, maybe she has a guard in there with her... but if there was a guard, would the detective have gone home at mid-day... with _flowers_?

He needed to get inside that apartment... but how? _How?_

Jerry looked around the apartment complex; it was pretty quiet. Most people appeared to be at work... or staying inside, out of the heat. The only signs of life were the UPS guy who dropped off a package inside the building and then drove away, and the two giggling girls who had, by now, moved to the swing set off to the side of the building.

What he wouldn't give for a UPS uniform right now! _Hey, baby, got a special delivery for you! Surprise!_ He laughed gleefully as he imagined Lucy's expression were he to show up dressed as a delivery man... but no chance of that. It was, however, an amusing thought.

Suddenly, his attention was caught by the detective exiting the building. He watched as the man got into his car and drove off.

This time, Jerry didn't follow.

He sat there, very still, for a good thirty minutes... thinking... just thinking. Coming up with various plans and, one by one, rejecting them. How was he going to get into that apartment? He looked in the direction of the swing set as he heard the girls squealing in delight as they pushed their swings higher and higher.

... and slowly, a plan formed in his mind. He reached inside his valise and pulled out a small leather case. Opening it up, he looked at his old Orange County Sheriff's Department badge and the ID on the leather flap facing it. He slipped it inside the pocket of his gray slacks. He grabbed the valise from the passenger seat, and exited the car. He gazed at his reflection in the car's window and was disturbed by his intense, grim expression. He shook his head rapidly several times and, then, made a determined effort to re-arrange his features. Suddenly, he smiled widely and pleasantly at the reflection of the man in the glass. _Better, much better._

He looked toward the laughing girls who were swinging higher and higher and laughing in frenzied delight. Smiling benignly, he walked toward them. _Let the game begin…_

XXXXX

_Julia's house..._

Horatio got Julia settled inside her house and called her doctor who was kind enough to say he would be there shortly to evaluate her condition. Horatio breathed a sigh of relief as he looked at the now quiet woman who still seemed lost and confused.

"Come on, sweetheart," he said softly to her, "let's get you into bed. Dr. Baylis should be here soon. Let's wash your face."

In spite of his earlier ministrations, Julia's face still bore traces of faded mascara under her eyes, and it gave her a sad, dead look that disturbed Horatio. Taking her hand, he led her toward the bedroom and watched as she slowly sat down on the bed, staring vacantly into space. Shaking his head, Horatio walked into her bathroom and reached for a face cloth. As he dampened the cloth, his eyes fell upon the wad of tissues that lay on the closed seat of the toilet, several of them stained with droplets of blood. Frowning, he left the bathroom and sat beside Julia on the bed.

He once again began to wash her face. Her trusting eyes then locked on his, and the pain he saw buried within them caused him to swallow the sudden, painful lump in his throat. _No one deserves this much heartache_, he thought. Thinking of Kyle and of how upset he'd be if he saw his mother in this condition, Horatio began to speak soothingly to the troubled woman.

"It's going to be okay, Julia. We'll get this under control. You know, Kyle loves you very much. He'll help you. And so will I. You're not alone in this... okay?"

She nodded. "I love Kyle," she said softly.

He smiled. "I know you do."

"John," she began, and stopped. Beginning again, she said, "Horatio… I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry." Depressed, the tears began to slide from her eyes once more. "Why do I do these things? I know I should stay on the medication... but I just hate it so. And Bradley... he gave me such hope."

"Shh... shh... stop crying. We'll get through this." He finished washing away the last traces of old mascara and smiled slightly. "There, now... all done. You look like a twelve year old with all that stuff off your face," he said, grinning. He was rewarded with a faint smile from her.

"Julia," he asked, "did you cut yourself earlier today?"

Her brows drew together in confusion. "No... I don't think so. Why?"

"There's a wad of Kleenex in the bathroom... with bloodstains."

Her features relaxed. "Oh...those. They're from Bradley... I used the tissues to clean up his scratches when they opened up and began to bleed."

Horatio became very still and stared at her. "Quaid had scratches which bled? Where were the scratches?"

"On his arms."

"Did he say how he got them?"

"Something about his sister's mean-tempered cat... the thing attacked him."

Horatio said nothing and settled Julia into the bed to await the doctor. Slowly, the exhausted woman's eyes closed, and within minutes, she was sleeping. He then went into her kitchen and opened the pantry door where he found a box of plastic food bags. He withdrew two and returned to the bathroom. Placing one plastic bag over his hand and using it as a makeshift glove, he carefully picked up the tissues and stuffed them inside the other bag.

"Thank you, Mr. Quaid," he said quietly, putting the small bag inside the pocket of his jacket.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen - A Busy Afternoon**

_Frank Tripp's apartment complex..._

Allowing their swings to gradually lose momentum, the giggling girls' flight through the air slowly came to a stop. Their laughter ebbed as their dirt smudged tennis shoes toed the dried mud beneath the swings where so many other pairs of little feet had worn away the grass. Curious, they silently watched the tall, smiling man as he approached.

"Hi, girls... How're y'all doing today," he said agreeably, sitting his valise on the ground. "Sure is hot. Wonder what time that snowball truck will be coming around?"

Six-year-old Samantha Johnson smiled up at him. She had a freckled face, trusting brown eyes and two long, light brown pigtails. "He don't come 'til three o'clock. You like snowballs, Mister?"

Sitting down on the vacant swing next to Samantha, he replied, "Sure do. Chocolate with marshmallow is my favorite. What about you?"

The little girl took a moment to consider. "I like Rainbow. That's where they take a bunch of colors and squirt 'em all over the ice and it looks like a pretty rainbow." She then pointed toward the quiet, slightly older girl who was seated on the swing next to hers. "Sarah's favorite is grape. You oughta see her tongue after she's done... It's purple!" Samantha thought that was funny and laughed uproariously as Sarah frowned.

The two girls were sisters but their temperaments were as different as night was from day. Samantha was full of laughter and mischief and was, according to her mother, too open and trusting for her own good. The rather cautious, eight-year-old Sarah was an intense child with short dark hair and warm, intelligent eyes that seemed to evaluate the world in which she lived with sober judgment. The glasses that she wore gave the serious little girl a focused, professorial look that was disconcerting in one so young.

With a slight frown, she leaned in close to her sister and admonished in a soft whisper, "You know that Mom said we're not supposed to talk with strangers."

Hearing this, the friendly man laughed. "And your mom is absolutely right. You should always listen to your mom. You girls shouldn't speak with strangers... but did your mom ever say you shouldn't speak with policemen?"

Samantha started to giggle and began singing in her thin, reedy soprano the song she'd learned in school: _The policeman is our friend, he takes care of you and me, and if we have a problem he will help us, 'cause the policeman is our friend!_

"Ta-Dah!" she finished, her voice warbling with triumphant flourish, and she once again dissolved into giggles.

"Hey, that was real good!" said the big man, with a winning grin on his face. "And that's right - the policeman _is_ your friend."

Sarah got off the swing and stood protectively near her younger sister. She studied the man. "Are you a policeman?" she asked.

"Yep," he said, nodding.

"So, where's your uniform? Why aren't you wearing a uniform?" inquired the serious little girl.

"Well, here's the thing, girls, I'm working undercover so I don't wear a uniform."

"What's that mean...'undercover?'"

"It means I wear regular clothes so I can spy on the bad guys without them knowing I'm a policeman... and then I can arrest 'em and put 'em in jail."

Samantha nodded. This made perfect sense to her. But Sarah continued to look at the stranger, not sure what to think of his explanation.

Samantha smiled. "Just like Mr. Frank, Sarah. He don't wear a uniform either."

Sarah considered this for a moment, trying to make up her mind. Suddenly, she came up with a test for the stranger. "Yeah, but Mr. Frank has a badge." She cocked her head to one side and evaluated the man on the swing. "You got a badge, Mister?"

The big man laughed in good humor. "Yes, ma'am, I sure do. Would you like to see it?"

The serious little girl nodded.

The man stood up and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather case. Opening it up, he displayed its interior to the girls.

Samantha looked at her sister with satisfaction. "See, Sarah. He told you he was a policeman." With that, Samantha began to push off from the ground with her feet and her swing began moving back and forth through the air. It pleased Samantha that the stranger was who he said he was: Sarah could be such a know-it-all at times. Samantha liked the big man. He had a good smile and friendly brown eyes. He seemed nice.

Sarah pushed back in place the glasses that had slid down her nose as she studied the badge. Finally, she nodded, satisfied. _The stranger had a badge so he must be a policeman._

The dark-haired little girl then smiled and went back to her swing and sat down. In concert with Samantha, she began to glide backward and forward through the air.

Noting Sarah's satisfaction, Jerry Price realized he had now passed muster with the children. He continued to smile with good nature at the girls as he closed the leather case and put it back in his pocket. Finally, he sat down again on one of the swings.

Absently surveying the grounds of the apartment complex, he continued to radiate good will and charm. "So, girls," he began, "you were talking about 'Mr. Frank'... the policeman."

"Yeah, Mr. Frank. We like him. When I fell off those monkey bars," said Samantha, pointing toward a children's jungle gym, "Mr. Frank took me, Sarah and Mom to the _hopspital_."

"She means 'hospital,' not 'hopspital,'" Sarah said with importance.

Samantha glared at her sister but, diverted by her own story, she continued. "I was crying 'cause my arm hurt so bad. Mommy was cryin' too 'cause our daddy don't live with us anymore and we don't have no car. So Mr. Frank drove us to the hopspital."

Sarah rolled her eyes in frustration. Samantha was purposely acting like a baby. She knew the word was 'hospital!'

"I got a pink cast on my arm," said the younger girl with excitement. "The doctors and nurses and even Mr. Frank said I was real brave. Lotsa people signed my cast."

The big man's eyes sparkled with good humor. "That's quite a story.

"Hey, you girls want to know a secret?" he asked with a conspiratorial wink. "Mr. Frank? He's my good friend."

XXXXX

_Miami Dade Crime Lab..._

Horatio walked briskly through the corridors of his lab, preoccupied with thoughts of the morning's activities as well as the contents inside the plastic baggie in the breast pocket of his jacket. Hearing the sprightly, lyrical voice of one of his favorite team members calling his name, he turned, pausing to watch pretty Calleigh Duquesne as she approached.

"Horatio, Ryan just called - he and Eric finally caught up with Quaid. They're bringing him in, a kickin' and a screamin' all the way," she said, amusement playing about her lips. "He says he wants his lawyer here."

"Well, we can oblige him. Never knew a guilty man who didn't want his lawyer present when he came in for questioning... In the meantime, Calleigh, I need a favor." He removed the baggie from his breast pocket and handed it to her. "Please deliver this to Ms. Valera. Tell her to work up a DNA profile and run it against the workup performed on Miss Ralston."

Calleigh looked at the clear plastic bag and at the blood-stained tissues within. "Hmm... does this belong to anyone we know?" she questioned, gazing at Horatio.

"It does... and that is why I want you to tell Ms. Valera I need the comparison stat. Ask her to put aside all other matters until this is completed."

"You got it." Calleigh turned to leave, but Horatio stopped her.

"Calleigh," he said, his voice troubled, "when is Mrs. Ralston scheduled to arrive... to see her daughter?"

Calleigh's face darkened with sadness. "I think she is due to arrive tomorrow morning, Horatio."

Horatio sighed. "Well, let's hope we have some resolution for her by then."

He walked into his office and softly closed the door behind him. Sitting down behind his desk, he pulled out his phone.

He started to key in the familiar number, but paused, and swung his chair around to face the glass window behind him, briefly lost in melancholy thought. It was only mid-afternoon, yet so much had already occurred today, leaving sadness and exhaustion in its wake. Had it only been hours since he'd left Lauren sleeping peacefully in his bed earlier that morning? The passionate, satisfying night the two had shared seemed days ago instead of just hours. Finally, sighing, he resumed keying in the number and listened for Lauren's voice.

He didn't have long to wait. "Horatio! Where are you? Are you still with Julia? How is she?"

"She's better... the doctor came and looked her over. She was sleeping when I left. I'm going to go back and check on her after I leave here this evening... just to make sure she's okay and doesn't need anything." He was silent for a moment. "I may have to consider having a nurse check on her for a few days, just as a precaution."

Lauren heard the tiredness in his voice. "How about you, honey?" she asked softly. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay."

"You don't sound okay..."

A sad smile touched Horatio's face as he admitted, "It's... hard. Julia is an exasperating woman... but, Lauren, to see her so... broken after one of these episodes... it makes me feel tired... and old."

"What do you mean, Horatio?"

He swallowed and ran a weary hand across his brow. "I don't know... there's a lot of history between Julia and me. To remember her as she used to be in those long ago days... to see her now... what the years have done to her... to me...

"I don't know," he repeated, unable or unwilling to explore further his feelings and wishing, suddenly, to change the subject.

"So, are you ready to give up on me?" he said lightly, only half joking.

"No way, Mister," she said heartily. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Horatio smiled faintly at her words. "Thanks for... for taking care of things today until I got there. Julia is a handful when she's... like that. I know it had to have been frightening for you. I'm really sorry to have put you through that. She's my problem; not yours."

Lauren was troubled more by Horatio's tone than his words, and for a moment didn't say anything. Last night had been so sweet between the two of them yet now he seemed to be treating her like a polite stranger he didn't wish to impose upon. Confused, she felt he was retreating from her and she didn't understand why. Still, she was determined not to let it happen. It often seemed to Lauren that for every step forward with Horatio, he'd later retreat two.

"Horatio," she finally continued, "if she's 'your problem,' then she's mine, as well. I love you, and whatever is important to you is also important to me. Why do you have so much trouble letting go... letting someone who loves you help you to carry the load?"

"Lauren, please, let's not do this right now..."

"Do what, honey? Tell you that I love you? That I want to help you? Well, I do... and I'm not going to let you back away from me, Horatio Caine, and go off in some corner by yourself to lick your wounds. Got it?"

Surprised by the vehemence in her voice, he lightly replied, "Yes, ma'am.

"I just... I want you to be happy, Lauren. I worry at times I am bringing a little too much... baggage with me."

She laughed softly. "I'm a big girl, Lieutenant. You don't need to worry, okay? You just let me love you."

For the first time that day, Horatio's mood began to lighten. "I like the sound of that, Lauren," he said quietly, "I do like the sound of that."

XXXXX

_Frank Tripp's apartment complex..._

"You're Mr. Frank's friend?" asked Sarah. "Do you go after bad guys together?"

The stranger nodded. "That's right. We work together to put bad people in jail so we can protect nice people like you.

"We're really good pals. Do you know his girlfriend?"

The girls looked puzzled. "I don't think Mr. Frank has a girlfriend. He lives by himself. Sometimes, though, his daughters come over," replied Samantha helpfully.

"Well, you see, it's this way," he patiently explained, "he met my sister while we were working a case together and he liked her a lot. She's staying with him now."

"No one lives with Mr. Frank," said Sarah definitively. "He's always by himself."

The big man laughed. "Well, maybe you haven't met her yet; she's only been staying with him for a short while. But, trust me, she's his girlfriend... a pretty lady with curly, black hair. Her name is Lucy."

Samantha and Sarah looked at one another. They would have remembered a pretty lady with such a pretty name.

"Here's the thing," he continued, "it's Lucy's birthday, and I brought her a present. But I want to surprise her. Don't you girls like to surprise each other sometimes? That's how it is with me and my little sister. Well, right about now, she probably thinks I've forgotten her birthday. She'll be so surprised and happy when she opens her door and sees it's me." He laughed appealingly, and the two girls, thinking of birthday cakes and ice cream, began to smile. Maybe they could get some cake and ice cream, too.

Sarah looked at the man inquiringly. "Where's the cake and ice cream? You can't have a birthday without cake and ice cream!"

He grinned affably. "You got that right. Mr. Frank is going to bring the party hats, ice cream, and a big strawberry shortcake when he gets off work. Maybe you two could come by and help us celebrate when he gets home. Who likes strawberry shortcake?"

"I do! I do!" cried Samantha, imagining the mounds of sweet whipped cream and juicy red berries. _YUM!_ "Are you going to sing 'happy birthday?'"

"Oh, sure! What's a birthday if you don't sing the birthday song? Maybe you can help us sing, huh?"

"You know," said Sarah, a serious look on her face, "you have to give her a birthday present... where's her present?"

The nice man laughed as if this were just about the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "Don't you worry, girls. You bet I have a present for her. See that bag there," he said, pointing to the valise, sitting a ways across from he and the girls, "there's a present inside just for her. She's gonna love it!"

"What'dja get her?" asked Samantha, who loved presents.

"Sorry, girls, but that's a secret. But you can bet it's just what she needs." Again the tall man started laughing. The little girls joyfully joined in, imagining the pretty lady happily opening up her present, and then serving them ice cream and cake. _What a great day this was turning out to be!_

"So," he asked, "would you girls be willing to help me out, here? I really want to surprise Lucy."

The girls looked at each other, and then nodded. _Why not? It was a birthday surprise!_

The big man grinned. "That's great, girls, just great! This will be so much fun... here's what I need you to do..."

XXXXX

_Miami Dade Crime Lab..._

Horatio was finishing up his call with Lauren when Frank stuck his head inside Horatio's office. "Frank, everything okay at home?" he asked, turning his chair from the window to face his friend.

"Things are fine. Just wanted to tell you Eric is in Interrogation Room A with Quaid. Man, he's spittin' fire, Horatio. His attorney is on his way. Quaid says he won't say a word 'til he gets here."

Horatio stood up. "Let's go, Frank. I want to see how far we can get before he closes down and waits for his lawyer."

As they walked down the hall, Frank shook his head. "He's a slick character. He's probably going to shut down immediately."

"Well, we'll see... I want to discuss Julia with him as well. She had a bit of a breakdown today... said Quaid told her she was healed and didn't need the medication any longer."

"Poor Julia... beautiful, but a piece of work."

"She went to my house. Lauren was there, and she was left to deal with Julia's craziness on her own."

"That had to be hard... Lauren okay?"

"She's fine. She's pretty resilient. Remarkable lady."

When Horatio and Frank entered the interrogation room, Eric was sitting across from Quaid. "Hey, H... me and Mr. Quaid have been waiting for you."

"Have you, Eric? So sorry to keep you waiting… _Bradley_. I know what a busy man you are... "

Quaid's brown eyes flashed with anger. "Spare me the small talk, Lieutenant. You had your boys bring me in here like I was a criminal. You want to tell me what this is all about?"

"What it's about, Bradley, is murder. The murder of Savannah Ralston."

"I already told you I didn't know this woman."

"Well, it would seem you lied about that, Bradley."

"I've got nothing to say to you until my attorney arrives. I don't know what you think you've got, but you've got nothing on me, Lieutenant."

Horatio smiled. "So, tell me, Bradley, when did you get your medical license?"

Quaid looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

The smile left Horatio's face. "I'm talking about the breakdown that Julia experienced today because she was no longer taking her medication. No longer taking it, Quaid, because you convinced her she no longer needed it."

Slyly, Quaid grinned. "Ah... so that's what this is all about... Julia. Look, I'm not, as you say, a doctor. I suggested to Julia that she pray about her illness and leave it with God."

"You did more than that. You convinced an emotionally troubled woman that she was cured and had no need of the medication that helped her deal with her illness. Why was that, Quaid? Did it make it easier for you to take advantage of her?"

"You bore me, Lieutenant. Let the woman go... she's done with you. Time for you to move on."

"At the risk of boring you further, let me make this clear: you are through with Julia. Do you understand what I'm telling you? You are on my radar... for good. And that, for you, is not a very pleasant place to be..."

A tap on the door interrupted them, and Horatio turned as a bespectacled, silver-haired man in a Hugo Boss suit entered the room. "Gentlemen," he said, "I'm Harmon Phillips, Mr. Quaid's attorney."

He nodded to the law enforcement officers and walked over to his client, sitting down beside him. "May I ask why you have brought Mr. Quaid in for questioning?"

"Murder a good enough reason?" asked Frank.

"Murder?" Phillips asked with disbelief. "What does that have to do with my client?"

"That is what we hope to find out." Horatio looked at the cufflinks at Quaid's wrists. "I remember those cufflinks from the other day, Mr. Quaid... they're very nice."

Quaid bristled. Turning to his attorney he whispered, "This is all about his fixation on his old girlfriend... Julia Saris." He looked at Horatio and said, "You don't like it she's seeing me... well, that too damn bad."

Phillips laid a lightly restraining hand on Quaid's forearm, "Bradley..."

Impatiently, Quaid shook him off. "This is harassment pure and simple. I'm here just because he's still got a thing for his old girlfriend."

Horatio just smiled. "Mr. Quaid, would you mind removing the cufflinks and showing us your forearms, please."

"What for? This is stupid. I don't have time for these games."

"Look, pal, just do as he says," said Frank. "Pull up those sleeves."

Quaid looked at Phillips. "Do I have to put up with this?"

"Is there a reason you don't want to show us your forearms, Quaid?" asked Eric.

Phillips' face looked troubled. "Bradley, what's going on here?"

"Not a damned thing other than harassment." Angrily, Quaid pulled the cufflinks out and tossed them on the center of the table. He then pushed back his shirt sleeves and, sitting both elbows on the table, held up his naked forearms for everyone's view. They bore a roadmap of half scabbed-over scratches and mottled bruises. "Satisfied?"

"Oh yes," replied Horatio, "I'm very satisfied, Mr. Quaid. Want to tell us how you received those scratches and bruises?"

Quaid's smile was hostile. "A cat, Lieutenant... a damned cat."

Horatio returned Quaid's nasty smile, and looked down at the ground, shaking his head. "A cat? Well, Bradley, I have some blood-stained tissues that might shed some light on that."

"You've got nothing on me, Lieutenant," Quaid said confidently. "Absolutely nothing,"

Horatio looked up, his smile still in place. "We'll see."

"Okay, Lieutenant," said Phillips authoritatively. "I want a few minutes alone with my client before questioning begins."

Horatio thought it over. _Why not?_ Quaid wasn't going anywhere and it would give him a chance to check on Valera's progress. "You can have fifteen minutes." He scooped up the cufflinks and handed them to Eric. "Why don't you hold these for Mr. Quaid, Eric. We wouldn't want such a... sentimental gift… to get misplaced."

XXXXX

_Frank's apartment..._

Lucy had been lightly dozing on Frank's sofa when she heard knocking on the apartment door. The muffled sound of children's laughter drifted through the door, and she heard little voices calling, "Mr. Frank! Mr. Frank! Are you in there?"

Alarmed, she reached beneath the cushion for her phone, and stood up. The voices and laughter continued, and Lucy warily approached the door. She took a deep breath and looked through the apartment door's small peephole.

Two little girls were calling out for Frank, and, all the while, giggling at each other. They were fairly squirming with some sort of excitement. Seeing the children were alone, Lucy relaxed and put the cell phone down on the table near the door. _How sweet they look, their little faces aglow with excitement. What could they possibly want with Frank?_

Smiling, Lucy put her hand on the doorknob and began to turn it as she slowly pulled open the heavy door...

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen - Surprises

Lucy pulled the heavy door open and watched the two young children yell "Surprise!" - their faces aglow with pleasure and happiness at being part of some happy occasion. Caught up in their excitement, she started laughing and was about to ask what the "surprise" was when, suddenly, Jerry Price moved with panther-like speed into her line of vision.

"Yeah, SURRRPRIIIISE, sweet Lucy!" he exclaimed, his voice eerily mocking the celebratory tone of the little girls, and his handsome face seamed with a feral smile.

Lucy's mouth shaped itself into an _**0 **_of shocked surprise, and she stood rooted to her place in the doorway, too shaken to move.

Six-year-old Samantha grinned happily. "Happy birthday, Miss Lucy! Are ya surprised? We wanted to surprise ya!"

Unable to tear her eyes away from the mad, dancing light in Jerry's, her mind was unable to make sense of what the child was saying. Uncomprehending, she listened as Jerry spoke to the girls.

"Well, girls, we sure surprised my little sister! Look at her! She's so surprised she can't even speak!" Reluctantly, he dragged his hungry eyes from those of Lucy's and looked at the girls.

"Now, girls, you just run along. We'll come and get you for the cake and ice cream when Mr. Frank gets home ... 'cause we're gonna have us some kind of party! Why, maybe we'll even play a few games. Lucy just loves games," he chuckled, and looked back at the terror-stricken woman, "don'tcha, Luce?"

Inwardly delighting in the stunned expression on her face, he continued, "Okay, girls, go on now. We'll see you later."

"Yessir," said Samantha happily, and she turned and started to skip down the apartment hallway, her mind anticipating the party to come later that day.

Sarah, however, remained. Her head cocked to the side, her intense brown eyes studied the pretty, dark-haired lady and her small face reflected her confusion. _Something isn't right,_ she thought. _She doesn't look happy... it's her birthday... why isn't she happy? Why does she look ... scared?_

"Go along now, join your little sister. We'll call you back later for the party. Gonna be a b-i-i-i-i-g party," he said to Sarah, stretching out the word "big" ominously.

Still, Sarah remained in place, watching the lady, and thinking. The lady seemed frozen, unable to move. _What's going on here?_

"Hey, you!" he said forcefully, his eyes hard. "Didja hear me? Now, SCOOT!"

Something strange in the man's eyes told Sarah she better move along, and quickly she turned and ran down the hall, until she was out of sight.

In that instant, something within Lucy broke and freed her from her paralysis and she took a step backward, hoping to slam the door shut and prevent Jerry from entering the apartment. She reached up to push the door closed, but before she could complete the action, Price stuck his arm inside the door and painfully grasped her thin wrist in his beefy hand. Squeezing hard, he snarled, "Not so fast, babe ... you're making me feel unwelcome. It's been awhile since I've seen you ... let's visit, huh?" He pushed his way through the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Lucy tried to pull her wrist free from his hand without success, and, in pain, she began to sob as she worried he was going to break it. Without warning, he released his hold on her, and she used that moment to reach for the cell phone on the table near the door, but wasn't quick enough, and Price, reading her intention, grabbed it.

"What's this?" he growled. "Calling someone, babe? 9-1-1? Or maybe that old, bald-headed cop who stupidly led me to you? How about those flowers? Yeah, I saw those flowers ... and then I knew." Price held the cell phone lightly in his hand, daring her to try and take it from him ... suddenly he reared back and brutally threw the phone against the wall, causing it to shatter into pieces. Lucy closed her eyes, feeling her heart plummet as the phone hit the wall ... any hope of calling for outside help was now gone. She was on her own...

"There, that's better, don'tcha think? Now we can have a conversation ... a _civilized_ conversation. Uninterrupted you-and-me time, babe."

Lucy opened her eyes. She backed farther away from Jerry, and her eyes frantically searched the room for an escape route ... or for something she could use to hold him off ... a weapon of some sort with which to defend herself. Her eyes moved quickly toward the sofa, but fearful that Jerry would notice her interest in that piece of furniture, she quickly glanced away. She had felt silly earlier that day when she had placed something else beside the cell phone beneath the sofa cushion... but now she was grateful for her earlier paranoia...

Price stood there, continuing to smile, enjoying the fear radiating from the terror-stricken woman. Oh, how he'd missed this! This delicious feeling of power and control. It was so nice to once again experience Lucy's helplessness, her abject terror. It fed something warm and dark within him, and he could feel a thrill beginning to grow as he watched those pretty green eyes grow wide with fright. For the first time in over a year and a half, he felt like a man again, and it felt _good_. He wanted to laugh out loud as he watched her looking about for some avenue of escape. Yes, indeed, it felt good.

"Been awhile, hasn't it, babe," he said softly, his voice lingering on the endearment and making Lucy's flesh crawl.

_Why had she opened the door? Frank had told her to stay away from the door... but the children... it was just two laughing little girls ... it had seemed so innocent ... so safe._ Fear rose up inside her as she met Jerry's eyes and she was finding it difficult to breathe. She had to get to the sofa. She had a chance... but, first, she had to get to that sofa.

XXXXX

Frank, Horatio and Eric stepped outside the interrogation room, leaving Quaid and Phillips deep in conversation. Looking through the glass partition, Eric shook his head. "H, this guy is really something. Seriously, he expects us to believe a cat did that to his arms? I'm betting Savannah did that to him while fighting for her life. You remember how torn up her nails were."

"Yes, Eric, I'm afraid I do ... she fought hard."

"Well, so much," said Frank, "for the crazed cat alibi..."

"You know," said Horatio, "he told Julia the same thing - that it was Mrs. Braxton's cat who had attacked him."

Frank shuddered, remembering the fat, ill-tempered feline who had hissed at him during the interview with Lee-Anne Braxton. "Well, if any cat was psycho enough to do it, he'd be the one. What was the nasty little beast's name? 'Cupcake?'"

Horatio smiled briefly, remembering Frank's acute discomfort around that cat. "'Crackers' ... and, as I recall, the only person Crackers seemed to tolerate aside from Mrs. Braxton was her assistant... Lewis, I think, was his name."

"Does this mean you buy the cat caper, H?" asked Eric in disbelief.

"No, Eric, it doesn't. Still, I'll be happy to have Ms. Valera's comparison of the DNA found on the tissues and what was found on Miss Ralston." He looked once more at Quaid, still involved in serious conversation with his attorney. "We'll give them twenty minutes, and then let's go in. I'm going to see if Ms. Valera has anything for us yet."

Walking past the reception area, he was surprised to see Pastor and Mrs. Braxton sitting off to the side of the room. Unbeknownst to them, he watched them for a minute or two, and noticed the strain between them. Bobby Braxton seemed nervous, and a light sheen of perspiration had taken residence on his forehead. Repeatedly, he dabbbed at it with a handkerchief, while listening to his wife who was speaking with him intently, her face full of concern.

"Mr. and Mrs. Braxton," he said, walking toward them, "what are you doing here?"

Lee-Anne stood up and took Horatio aside while her husband wearily watched her from his seat. "Lieutenant," she said softly, "why has Bradley been brought in for questioning? Is this about Savannah's death?"

"It is. I spoke with you today; and now it's your brother's turn."

"But why, Lieutenant? Bradley had nothing to do with Savannah, and certainly not her death. He isn't a killer."

Horatio glanced over at the Pastor, wondering how much Lee-Anne had told him about her relationship with Savannah Ralston. The man looked worn out and upset - he was certainly a great deal quieter than he had been the day before when Horatio and Frank had visited with him and Quaid at the church.

Lee-Anne noticed that Horatio's attention was fixed on her husband. "Lieutenant, I can see that you're wondering if I've told Bobby about my girl yet ... well, I haven't ... not yet. All he knows is that Bradley has been called here for questioning - and that worries him."

"Really, Mrs. Braxton? Why is he so concerned? Does he have reason to believe your brother had some sort of involvement with Miss Ralston?"

"Absolutely not! Neither of us believe Bradley had any involvement in poor Savannah's death! If he looks worried, it's because so much is already weighing on his heavily burdened shoulders. I mentioned to you earlier that he was downtown in a meeting with our investors today. It didn't go as well as he hoped.

"It takes a lot of money to run Harvest Souls," she explained, concern creasing her lovely face as she gazed at her husband. "A lot of money ... there's the mortgage on the church, its offices, the grounds ... the television ministry ... the outreach programs and global missions. It makes my head hurt to think about it. The reality is that we can't run this operation just on the love offerings we receive from parishioners. Like any business, we rely on investment bankers.

"Because of the economic slump, our numbers haven't been as good as they used to be ... and we're in danger of losing the television ministry. So Bobby and Bradley were meeting with them today to try to calm their financial jitters. The meeting was a difficult one, and the bankers feel we've ... overextended ourselves."

Lee-Anne sighed. "Bobby's always had great visions, dreams of what the church could be, could accomplish. But, Lieutenant, not everyone has the ability to share his vision. The bankers are worried about their money; Bobby is worried about saving the souls of the lost and wounded. Bankers just don't understand that.

"The last thing we need right now is even the hint of scandal involving the hierarchy of the church. Surely you understand that? When he learned Bradley had been called down here for questioning, he just about collapsed.

"And now I have to tell him about my past? I sure hate to add to that good man's burdens right now, Lieutenant," she said, looking sadly at her wedding rings.

"Mrs. Braxton, please look at me." Horatio looked intently into Lee-Anne's eyes. "Mrs. Braxton, do you love your husband?"

"I do," she replied softly, "with all my heart. He's been good to me."

"Trust him, then, to do the right thing when you tell him about the little girl," said Horatio, kindly. "He has a right to know ... and from you ... because I'm afraid this is going to have to come out. If he's the man you think he is, he'll understand. Initially, it will be difficult, but you just remind him of this: he has a soul a lot closer to home to worry about now."

Lee-Anne's eyes grew misty and she nodded. Her phone began to buzz, and she pulled it from her purse. "Excuse me for a moment, Lieutenant."

Horatio looked away as he listened to Lee-Anne. "Lewis, darlin', what's going on there? ... I see. Well, darlin', the best thing to do is for you to bring the papers here, although I hate asking you to come all the way down here ... I think we're going to be here a spell ... no, everything is fine - or as well as can be expected. ... Bobby can review the papers while we're waiting here ... oh, and darlin', could you bring the red file with the insurance papers ... they're locked up in the back credenza, but you have a key. Thank you, darlin', we'll see you soon." Lee-Anne terminated the call and smiled at Horatio. "Don't know what I'd do without that young man; he's like family."

"Hmm, Crackers sure seemed to think so..."

"Yes, that is so. Not many humans make the grade with Crackers." Her worried eyes drifted back toward her husband as she thought about telling him of her past. "Oh, Lieutenant, I sure would give the world to avoid having this conversation with Bobby."

Horatio said nothing, letting his expression speak for itself. "I know, I know," she said hastily, her eyes sad. "It's got to be done. I just don't relish it."

He nodded. "If you'd like some privacy, there's a room adjacent to my office... I can arrange for you to have it for a while ... "

"Thank you - I'm grateful for the offer."

She walked back to her husband who seemed confused and tense. She sat down beside him and took his hand. "Darlin', Lewis is on his way ... some papers arrived from the bank for your review.

"Right now, the Lieutenant has some questions for Bradley. He needs to ask Bradley about ... well, some things that have come up as a result of the investigation into the murder of that poor young woman. We're likely to be here for a while."

Braxton frowned. "I don't understand - what does this woman have to do with Bradley? With us? Oh, this is just the worst possible time for this to happen." He glared at Horatio. "It's as if Satan is pulling an army together to attack our church because of all the good things we're doing."

Thinking of the dead girl laying in the morgue, Horatio felt scant sympathy for the Pastor and replied shortly, "Don't blame the devil for the works of man, Pastor … you know, you might consider that as a nice topic for a future sermon ... "

Braxton stared at him, not knowing what to say. "When can we see my brother-in-law, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Perhaps later - he is with his attorney presently. Mrs. Braxton, I'll send one of my officers to show you to the room I spoke to you about. You'll have privacy there... "

When Horatio had walked away, Bobby Braxton turned toward his wife with surprise. "Lee-Anne?"

"Darlin', we need to talk ... about several things," she said, caressing his cheek.

XXXXX

Sarah opened the door to the apartment where she and Samantha lived with their mother. Samantha was seated on the floor, her little face intent as she colored in with crayon the picture she'd drawn of a woman with lots of black, curly hair standing next to a large birthday cake with several crookedly drawn candles atop it. Sarah sank down cross-legged on the floor next to her sister and, resting her elbows on her knees, she leaned her chin forward, her cupped hands supporting it.

"Is that supposed to be Mr. Frank's girlfriend?" asked Sarah, watching as Samantha continued coloring the picture.

"Yeah, silly ... who else has a birthday today? I'm going to give it to her as a present. I sure hope they bring the cake soon, don't you?"

Lost in thought, Sarah didn't reply. _That lady sure didn't seem very happy to see her brother. He was happy ... but she looked scared._ _But why? He was a nice man. Why did she seem scared?_

"Samantha ..."

"Yeah?"

"Did that lady seem ... funny to you? I mean ... sort of scared?"

Samantha paused and placed behind her ear the red crayon she'd been using to draw strawberries on the birthday cake, and stared at her sister with interest. "Well, I wasn't really thinking too hard when she opened the door ... well, I was, but it was about the cake and ice cream."

"Try to remember."

Samantha screwed up her face in an effort to remember. Her teacher was always telling her to put on her "thinking cap," and she visualized putting a big pointed hat on her head to help herself think. "She looked kinda weird, I guess. Her eyes were real funny ... big-like. Maybe like she was gonna cry or somethin'."

Sarah thought about that. _Why would she cry? Was it because she was happy to see her brother... or scared of him?_ The more she considered the matter, the more uncomfortable the little girl became. Abruptly, she came to a decision. "I'm telling Mom," she said, quickly scrambling to her feet.

"NO!" cried Samantha. "No, you can't! She'll be so mad with us for talking to the man. Please don't... oh please, Sarah!"

Feeling pity for her apprehensive little sister, she smoothed her hair. "No ... no, she won't be mad," soothed Sarah. "He's a policeman, remember? He has a badge. Mom will understand. Now calm down. We have to tell her. I don't know what else to do and I'm tired of thinking about this ... Mom will know what to do."

Samantha stood up, resigned to her fate. No point in pleading further with her sister; she knew that when Sarah made up her mind to do something, there was no stopping her. Reluctantly, she followed Sarah into the kitchen where their mother was starting to prepare dinner.

XXXXX

"Ms. Valera, what have you got for me?" asked Horatio, walking into Maxine Valera's office, all business and little charm.

Sighing, Maxine looked up from her microscope. "You don't give a girl much time to process results, do you?"

Horatio grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry, but we don't have the luxury of time. Down the hall, I have a possible murderer who is in conference with his attorney, and I also have a distraught mother coming in tomorrow who will want information about the death of her daughter ... and I would certainly like to be able to tell her that we have a strong lead in the case."

Maxine nodded. "I understand. Okay, it's not all typed up and pretty, but here it is, barebones: the analysis of the blood found on the tissues does not match up with the DNA markers for the victim."

Horatio looked stunned. "Are you kidding me? The blood on the tissues ..."

"The blood on the tissues," she continued for him, "is definitely male and human ... but mixed with something else. And it isn't Miss Ralston's DNA."

Horatio leaned back against the lab table. He hadn't expected this.

"Does the subject work for a veterinarian?" asked Maxine, abruptly.

"A vet?" Horatio frowned. "No ... not at all. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you probably won't believe this, but the blood contained DNA strands of _Felis silvestris catus_ ..."

"English, please," he said impatiently.

"The domestic house cat. In other words, your suspect had a tangle with Garfield. That's why I thought he perhaps worked for a vet... you see this all the time from people who work for vets. Cats are the worst ... and cat scratches are nothing to take lightly. They can be pretty serious."

Horatio let out a heavy, unhappy breath. "Nothing at all in common with the Ralston profile? You're sure?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Maxine looked unhappy. "Sorry, boss, I got nothin' for you."

XXXXX

Helen Johnson was at the sink rinsing lettuce for a salad when the guilty-looking girls entered the kitchen.

With an unconscious gesture that made her mother smile, Sarah placed her index finger against the center bridge of her glasses and impatiently pushed them back up her nose. "What's going on, Lady Sarah?" she asked smiling. She spied Samantha hiding behind Sarah, and it was easy for Helen to figure out that the girls had something on their mind. _What have they gotten into now?_ she wondered.

Putting her arm about her mother's waist, Sarah rested her head against her mother's hip and stared up at her. "Mom, I think we've done something bad ... " Sarah then began to tell her mother the story of the man with the friendly smile and the policeman's badge ... and the fear she saw on the face of the lady in Mr. Frank's apartment. Samantha hovered nearby, her hands clenching and unclenching in apprehension of her mother's reaction.

When Sarah had finished her story, Helen didn't know what to say ... or do. "Oh, Sarah! I would expect this disobedience from Samantha, who is younger than you ... but you! You should know better! How many times have I told you not to speak with strangers!"

Sarah felt bad; she hated disappointing her mother and making her sad.

"But, Momma," said Samantha with a quaver in her voice, "he's a policeman. He said he knows Mr. Frank!"

"Come here, girls," said Helen as she knelt down to face them at eye level. "You have to remember that you shouldn't speak to strangers. This is important! If something happened to you girls, I don't know what I'd do. Please ... please promise me you will never do this again."

"We promise, Mom," said Sarah earnestly. "But what about the lady? She looked so scared!"

Helen kissed both girls on the cheek, grateful for their safety, and gave them each a glass of chocolate milk. "You two go watch television until dinner. Let me worry about this, okay?"

Samantha nodded happily and headed toward the living room, already having put the afternoon's events behind her. Sarah stayed behind for a moment. "Mom?"

"Yes, Lady Sarah?" she smiled at her serious little girl.

"Thanks for not being mad with us. We'll do better. I promise." With that, the girl turned toward the living room, feeling better now that she had laid at her mother's door the burden of what to do about the pretty lady.

Helen looked out the kitchen window, nervously chewing her bottom lip. She wasn't sure what to make of the girls' story. Helen was a woman who valued her privacy, and was reluctant to meddle in the affairs of others. Still, Sarah had been so adamant about the woman's fear that a chill went through Helen at the thought of doing nothing. _Why would she fear a police officer ... and one who was her brother?_

It didn't make much sense, and Helen wished she could just dismiss the story as the overactive imagination of children.

And ... if it had been only Samantha telling her the story, she would likely do so. But the worry and alarm was coming from Sarah, her serious, intelligent little girl. Even though Sarah was only eight, the child was intuitive and her feelings were not easily dismissed.

Would she be making a fool of herself if she were to call Frank Tripp and just mention Sarah's concerns? What's the worst he'd do? Laugh at her? Call her a busybody?

Helen liked Frank Tripp; he'd been helpful to her after her husband left her and the girls to fend for themselves. He'd taken Samantha to the hospital that time she broke her arm, and he told Helen he was just down the hall if she ever needed his help. It gave her a great sense of comfort and protection to have that decent man just several doors away. Did she want to jeopardize that modest friendship and risk having him consider her a busybody?

But her mind kept going back to Sarah's words: _"She looked so scared!"_ Wasn't it worth the risk if ... just in case ... something wasn't right?

Making up her mind, she reached for her phone.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen - End Game

"Sit down," he said roughly, and pushed Lucy toward a chair in the living room. Reaching down, Jerry opened the valise he'd earlier tossed to the floor when he and Lucy had scrambled over the cell phone. He pulled out the small caliber weapon hidden within and, smiling, pointed it directly at her, enjoying the fright that appeared on her face.

"My newest toy ... d'ya like it? It's small and handy ... _handy dandy_," he said with a childish giggle. "Look how compactly it fits into my hand. A Ranger .22 Magnum. Bought it just a few months ago. The police issue was taken away when I lost my job ... Didn't know that, did you? Well, you can take credit for that.

"Yeah, they took my job and they took my badge and gun, too ... like you, they tried to take everything from me. But, you know, Luce, if you're willing to pay the bucks, there's always someone dirty enough to get you what you need. And I found a guy, a former cop, who was able to get me the badge and also pick up one of these babies ... it's small, but gets the job done ... that's what it's all about ... getting the job done. When I learned where you were, I just couldn't wait to show you this little beauty. Show and tell, Luce! Always a fun game, don'tcha think?"

"You lost your job?" asked Lucy weakly. "When did that happen?" The thought frightened her. His job had always been the thing that seemed to anchor him to reality. It made him feel like a big man, wearing his uniform and badge, carrying a gun. Like somebody important. He had enjoyed the feeling of authority that came from being a lawman and the respect that went along with it. Without the job and the role it allowed him to play, what did he have to lose? Nothing. He had nothing to lose. "What happened?" she repeated miserably.

"_What happened? What happened? What happened?_" he mocked in a nasty sing-song voice. "What do you think happened? Did you think you could just run away and it wouldn't affect me ... my career? _My standing_. Didn't you think people would notice? Talk? You're my wife, goddammit! It got so I couldn't concentrate on the job ... all I could think about was finding you. I wondered all the time who you were with, and how I was going to bring you back. I tell you, Luce, your running away was your best game yet. But now ... now, maybe we raise the stakes a little higher. New game. New rules. Wanna play?"

Lucy's eyes kept drifting toward the sofa, but she forced herself to stop when she noticed how intently Jerry was studying her. _I have to get to that cushion! I just have to find a way to ... humor him. But how? How?_

Hoping to mollify him, she said, "Jerry, I'm sorry. I swear I didn't know the Sheriff's Department had let you go; I never wanted for that to happen! I never meant to hurt you ... I really didn't think you'd care if I left!"

Jerry offered her a chilling smile. "Really? Not care that my little game player left me? You know how much I've always loved you, Luce ... how could you think I wouldn't care?"

He slowly approached her and a big grin split his face as she involuntarily flinched. "Ever hear of Russian roulette? That's a fun little game, too."

Lucy's blood ran cold as he moved in very close, spun the cartridge of the revolver, and then held the nose of the weapon lightly against her temple. "Feeling lucky?"

"JERRY, NO!" she cried, and quickly closed her eyes as he pulled the trigger.

**CLICK!**

The room was silent. Nothing had happened.

Slowly, tentatively, she opened her eyes, her face pale and confused. Enjoying his wife's frightened bewilderment, Jerry began to laugh boisterously. Lucy thought she was going to be sick.

"That was a fun game, wasn't it? I wish you could see your face, Luce - it's priceless! Hey, babe, the gun wasn't even loaded," he said, choking on his laughter and wiping the tears of mirth from his strange eyes. "The goddam gun ain't even loaded ...

"Well, let me rephrase that - the gun ain't loaded _yet_. But we're going to change that. Up the stakes again, just a little. Gotta make the game interesting." Again, ghoulish laughter erupted as he enjoyed the horrified expression on Lucy's face. He removed the box of ammunition from the valise and began to methodically load the bullets into the revolver's chamber ... and all the while he kept watching Lucy with a deadly concentration. In return, Lucy eyes were fixed on his the way a snake's might fix warily on its charmer.

Pausing when he was finished, he tilted his head to the side and with a serious expression asked, "You know what else I got in the bag, Lucy? Let me show you."

He reached into the valise and pulled out one of his shirts from his days with the Orange County Sheriff's Department. Lucy viewed it with a sinking heart. It was such an _ordinary_ garment to have provoked so many irrational outbursts from her husband over the years.

"I have to get ready, Lucy," he said seriously, holding up the wrinkled shirt. "It's time to get ready for work. Got a real important matter to take care of, and got to look the part.

"Since you left, there's been no one to keep my shirts in order. That was _your _job, Luce, but you never took it seriously. God knows I didn't ask a whole hell of a lot from you! See how wrinkled this is? You know I can't go to work looking like this ... I don't mind playing games, babe ... but there's a time and a place. I can't show up with missing buttons or sloppy shirts ... it's important to look the part. YOU KNOW THAT, RIGHT? How many times have I reminded you of that?" He waved the gun back and forth, and shook his head excitedly. "But no, everything was always a game with you. No matter how many times I tried to make you understand, you just ignored my instructions. You never cared how important it was to me. I HAVE A GODDAM IMAGE TO UPHOLD!"

In spite of her resolution to be brave and look for an opportunity to escape, Lucy quelled inwardly at the violence in his voice and watched with trepidation the further unraveling of her husband's mind.

"Stand up, we're gonna take care of this right now," Price said.

Afraid and confused, she remained seated. "I said stand up, damn it, or I'll pull you up by your hair," he threatened, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her out of the chair.

"Stop! Please, Jerry!"

"We're just going to take care of the shirt, Lucy," he said patiently, pushing her toward the kitchen with his free hand, while holding the gun and shirt in the other. "You and me are going to take a little tour of Super Cop's place and see if he has an iron, and then you are going to take care of this shirt."

Spying a tall, narrow closet, he forced Lucy to open it. Inside, along with a mop and broom, was an ironing board and steam iron. Letting go of her, he held the gun steady in her direction. "Okay, set up the board and get the iron out. I need to have my shirt pressed so I can wear it to work."

_To work? What is he talking about? He is utterly insane_," thought the frightened woman. _How can you reason with a crazy person?_

He threw the shirt at her. "Iron it - and be quick about it. I don't have a lot of time. I have to get ready. They'll be wondering where I am."

It was pointless to argue with him. She had to do what he said and hope for an opportunity to escape. Plugging in the iron, her shaking hands smoothed the shirt's fabric over the ironing board. As she counted the seconds before the iron became hot enough to use, she began to watch and wait for her chance. She was convinced he was crazy enough to kill her this time; there was nothing holding him back any longer, nothing to keep him in check. No bruises or shallow cuts this time - no, this time, he had murder in his eyes.

And all the while, he watched her ... smiling. "Good ... that's real good. Want to look sharp - nope, _need _to look sharp. This is the big time now. The big game. The game to end all games. The end game."

Lucy barely heard the bizarre mutterings. She couldn't afford to focus on them. Instead, her eyes fixed on her task, Lucy forced herself to remain calm and she continued to iron the shirt, her mind intent on finding a way to get the gun out of his hand. And then ... her thoughts centered on the iron ... the very, very hot iron.

XXXXX

Horatio was still thinking about his conversation with Valera when he returned to the interrogation area where Frank and Eric were discussing the Miami Marlins' chances for the baseball season.

"Gentlemen," he said, approaching them, "we have a problem."

"Yeah, so do the Marlins," advised Frank. "Doubt they'll even make 500 this year."

Eric laughed. "C'mon, Frank - keep the faith, brother! What about Reyes?"

"You keep the faith, pal - and you can keep Reyes, as well."

"Gentlemen, as interesting as this conversation is, the problem at hand is a lot more pressing. I just received the results of the DNA workup."

"And?" asked Eric.

"And, according to the analysis, there is no DNA evidence to tie Quaid to the Ralston murder."

"What?! How about the scratches up and down his arms?" demanded Frank.

"Well, Frank, apparently it really was Crackers who inflicted the damage. Valera confirmed the blood on the Kleenex contained cat DNA in addition to that belonging to Quaid."

"Well, I'll be damned," said Frank. "I knew that little beast was a feline sociopath. Now what? Do we cut Quaid loose?"

"Not quite yet. We can still hold him for questioning based on our interview today with Mrs. Braxton. Quaid stood to lose quite a bit if the Pastor found out about Mrs. Braxton's child. I've also learned the church is in financial difficulty, so this is certainly the sort of information that Quaid and others in the church might want to keep from the public." Horatio stood there thinking. "We should also question the Pastor. His wife doesn't think he knows anything about her connection to the Ralstons or the fact that she has a child ... but we don't know that for certain. I think we'll question Quaid and then have a session with Braxton."

"But there's no physical evidence to link Quaid to the murder ... maybe we should run a DNA profile on Braxton," said Eric.

Horatio agreed. "We should and we will."

Frank's cell began to buzz and he quickly pulled it from his jacket pocket. Worried about Lucy, he noted with relief that it was not her number showing up on device's screen. The number was vaguely familiar though, but he was unable to place it. "Excuse me," he said to his companions, "I need to take this."

Stepping away from the two men, he answered, "Frank Tripp."

"Mr. Tripp," said the female voice, "this is Helen Johnson."

Surprised, Frank said, "Hello, Mrs. Johnson. Everything okay with the girls?" Frank liked the irrepressible Samantha and her sister, the serious Sarah, and had told Mrs. Johnson to call him if she ever needed any help. He felt great sympathy for the woman's plight; she was a single mother raising two young children with a deadbeat dad for a husband.

"The girls are fine; it's something else ... Mr. Tripp I really hate to appear intrusive, and I hope you'll forgive me if I'm crossing a line that I shouldn't ... but something the girls said has me worried."

Frowning and not understanding where the conversation was going, Frank replied, "Don't worry about it. What's wrong?"

"Well, do you have a ... friend ... staying with you?"

Frank suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck rise up and adrenaline began to course through his body. "Yes, I do. Lucy Price. Is there something wrong?"

Helen hesitated for just a moment. "Well ... I'm not sure, but there might be. Earlier this afternoon, a police officer approached the girls, saying he was Ms. Price's brother. He showed the girls his badge and convinced them he was a friend of yours ... and that it was Ms. Price's birthday and that it would be fun to surprise her."

Tersely, Frank asked, "Mrs. Johnson, the man ... was he able to enter the apartment?"

"I believe so ... the girls saw Ms. Price open the door, and they commented ... she seemed upset. The police officer told them to leave and they came back home. But, Mr. Tripp, Sarah had a bad feeling about it and so I thought perhaps I should call you."

"Look, sit tight, okay? Don't go near that apartment - and keep the girls away. Have you heard anything coming from the apartment - shouting, loud noises?"

"No," she said anxiously. She was beginning to feel that something very bad was about to happen.

"Okay - call me immediately if you hear anything. I'm leaving now and will be there shortly. Again, keep those girls inside your apartment, and lock your doors. I mean it - this is serious."

Horatio had been watching Frank throughout the exchange and noticed his increasing alarm. When his friend finished the conversation, Horatio walked over to him and asked, "Frank, is everything okay?"

"No, Horatio, it isn't." Frank quickly keyed in Lucy's cell number and received an "out of service" message. "Horatio, I gotta go. I think Price is inside the apartment with Lucy."

"Okay, friend, let's move." He and Frank almost ran down the hall, and Horatio called out to Eric, "Have some cars sent to Frank's apartment complex - QUICK! We have a hostage situation. Keep Quaid here; we'll deal with him later. If he gets antsy, go in and start asking questions. But keep him. And see about getting a DNA swab off of Braxton."

"You got it, H," said Eric. "Keep us posted."

Quickly, Horatio and Frank left the building and jumped into the Hummer, both men worried and fearful about what they might find when they arrived at the apartment complex.

XXXXX

Jerry stripped off the polo shirt he'd been wearing and watched as Lucy finished ironing the uniform shirt. Finally, she was done, and she nervously pointed to the shirt, still laying on the board.

Smiling, he ordered, "Hand it to me, babe ... "

Moving around to the front of the ironing board, she tentatively held it out to him, and he laughed as he took it from her. "Why so nervous, Luce? I just wanna put on my shirt." He slipped into the shirt and began to button it and tuck it inside the waistband of his slacks. He caught his reflection on the door of the microwave oven sitting on the counter and smiled with grim satisfaction, one hand smoothing back the thick brown hair at the side of his head. _Good thing I got that haircut last week ... need to look sharp when going on duty._

"What do you think, babe? Lookin' good?"

Mutely, Lucy stared at him, unsure how to respond. Angered by her continuing silence, he was about to scream the question at her but suddenly, as if something just occurred to him, he snapped his fingers.

"One thing missing." He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out the small leather case, and extracted the badge from within. Pushing out his chest, he pinned it to its familiar place, and seemed at ease. "There ... that's better ... much better. Yep, Officer Price, reporting for duty ... on his last big case, gun and badge in hand. Now, we're ready."

_Ready for what?_ she wondered, trying to read his expression. _Why is he carrying around the shirt if he's been let go from the force? Is he totally insane? Is there anything left within him to reason with?_

His expression was calm, as if he'd come to some sort of crazy decision that only his fractured mind could grasp ... he seemed almost resigned.

"This is the big game for you and me, Luce. No coming back from this one. No do-overs. Nope. No passing go and collecting big bucks. No sir! ... You and me, we have an appointment with destiny. 'Til death us do part' - remember that vow? It wasn't an empty promise. You'll never again leave me, Lucy. I'll never let you go. You're mine.

"Come here," he instructed.

When she didn't respond, he impatiently stepped forward, intending to grab her by the neck and pull her to him. "Didn't you hear me? Are you deaf?" Seeing the anger flash in his eyes, she didn't stop to think twice and reached behind her back and grabbed the hot iron. With surprising speed, she slammed it into the left side of his face, and watched as the hot steam immediately sizzled against the tender, vulnerable skin - and then she stepped back.

Jerry howled in pain and dropped the gun to the floor as both hands reached blindly for his face. "YOU BITCH!" he screamed. "MY FACE! MY FACE!" Lucy was about to reach down and grab the gun, but Price kicked it away, all the while venting his pain and rage.

Lucy turned and ran from the kitchen while Jerry was still clutching at his face and screaming. Already he could feel the raw skin beginning to blister ... to touch it even gently was to invite agony. Tears of pain clouded his vision as he looked around the kitchen. _Where was she? WHERE WAS SHE?_

Wasting no time, Lucy reached the door in the living room, her shaking hands trying to open it. The door was locked. Why couldn't she unlock it? Desperately, she recited an internal mantra: _Slow down ... don't panic ... take it easy, you'll be able to open the door ... try to think ... don't panic .._. Acutely aware of the precious seconds passing, her heart was in her throat and she began to despair.

But then ... SUCCESS! The door handle turned, and Lucy was able to crack open the door. _THANK GOD!_

Out of nowhere, a beefy hand suddenly appeared and reached over her shoulder to slam the door shut. "Going somewhere? I don't think so, Lucy."

Breathing heavily, he turned her around to face him and Lucy gasped at her husband's visage. His skin was badly burned where she'd held the iron against his face; it had turned a deep scarlet and was a mass of ugly and tender-looking blisters, some already beginning to leak fluid. He was a horribly ludicrous sight - that damaged head rising out of the carefully pressed shirt with its prominently displayed lawman's badge. He reminded her of a monster from a badly made horror film. "You hurt me, Lucy," he said menacingly. "That's not part of the game!"

XXXXX

Horatio quickly maneuvered through the streets of Miami as he and Frank headed to Frank's apartment complex.

"Frank, how many apartments are in your particular building?"

"Ten apartments per building, four separate buildings making up the complex. What are you thinking ... evacuation?"

"Possibly; certainly your building. If Price is armed, we don't know what he might do. Let's place a call to back-up and tell them to slowly and quietly start emptying out the building, staying away from your apartment for the time being."

Frank nodded, and placed the call. He then decided to call Helen Johnson.

The nervous voice answered immediately. "Mr. Tripp?"

"Ma'am, we are sending some police officers to evacuate the building. They should be there any minute. Gather up the girls and tell them to be brave. You're going to have to quickly and quietly exit the building. Can you do that without panicking?"

"Yes. We'll be fine ... don't worry about us." She hesitated. "What about Ms. Price?"

Frank's heart clutched a bit at that, but he said resolutely, "She's gonna be okay. We'll be there any minute. Now get the girls."

"I will. Thanks, Mr. ...

"OH MY GOD! MR. TRIPP, ARE YOU STILL THERE? Oh no, dear God! Can you hear that?" the distraught woman cried.

"What's going on? What are you hearing?" asked Frank, his heart beating rapidly.

"It sounds like a man's voice ... he's screaming ... it sounds horrible! It's so horrible! ... Mr. Tripp, the officers are at my door ... "

"Okay, get out of the building. NOW."

Frank terminated the call just as Horatio was pulling up to the complex. They saw the various police vehicles and one ambulance sitting quietly near the building. There were no flashing lights or sirens ... it was eerily subdued. The two men jumped out of the Hummer as a small group of residents was being herded out of the complex and directed to take cover behind the police vehicles. Frank had a brief view of the Johnson girls as they hurried with their mother behind police lines.

Frank turned to Horatio. "We gotta go in now ... Price is screaming."

Horatio agreed, and pulled out his weapon.

"You," said Frank, pointing to two young officers standing nearby, directing them to pull their weapons. "We need you to back us up as we move in ... nice and quiet ... don't be heroes ... we'll handle it. Got that?"

"We understand."

Horatio and Frank looked at each other. "Ready?" asked Horatio. Frank nodded.

"Okay ... here we go," said Horatio grimly.

XXXXX

"Hurt me, will you? End game, Lucy," he said heavily, "we're at end game. Neither of us have anything to lose ... playing for keeps. This is it for you and me."

Trying to break away from Price, Lucy forcefully pushed the heel of her hand into his damaged face, hoping to disable him. Again Price howled in pain as her hand made contact with the delicate, damaged flesh. She tried not to gag at the sensation of his pulpy, mangled skin against the heel of her hand and pushed as hard as she could in hopes of liberating herself. Managing to break free, she lost her balance and fell to her knees. Clumsily she crawled toward the sofa, trying to stand up as she did.

Just as she was able to rise to her feet and was almost an arm's distance from the sofa, Jerry staggered over and tackled her from behind. She fell face forward into the cushions, her chest and limbs hanging off the piece of furniture. Jerry's heavy body lay atop hers and his arms encircled her in a killing embrace. She had to get her hands free! She just had to ... she needed to get to what was beneath the cushion! It was her last chance.

Price's large hands grabbed the back of her head and pushed her face deep into the cushion, cutting off her air supply. Desperate to get some air into her lungs, she began to thrash uselessly against the heavy man who was forcing her face into the fabric. Trying not to panic, she stopped the fruitless efforts to free herself and quickly focused on snaking her free arm beneath the cushion ... SUCCESS! Her hand reached the sought-after metal object ... but she was growing disoriented ... she needed air. SHE NEEDED AIR!

As if a merciful God was listening to her inward pleas, Price abruptly yanked her head up from the cushion and pulled it backward, holding it close to his mouth, and she could feel his hot breath near her face. She began coughing, trying desperately to fill her lungs with precious oxygen. Almost obscenely, Jerry's soft voice whispered in her ear, "Welcome back, Luce! You're not going anywhere ... just yet."

Before he could force her face back into the cushion, her free hand gripped tightly the long jagged knife. With a strength she didn't know she possessed, she quickly pulled the steel blade from beneath the cushion and rolled her body on its side. Jerry didn't see the knife coming his way and was taken, instead, by surprise at the jerky motion that enabled Lucy's body to frontally meet his. Angrily, he started to push her back into the cushions, but - suddenly! - a shiny object flashed before his eyes ... and then he felt something sharp enter the front of his throat.

Immediately he released the woman, and both hands instinctively grabbed at the object sticking in his throat. Feeling the handle, his mind was unable to register what had just occurred, and he experienced an irresistible compulsion to pull the invader from his throat. Not thinking clearly, he gave in to the desire and rudely yanked the object out, dropping it to the floor. Warm, wet, sticky red blood began to spurt from the artery the knife had pierced.

Jerry staggered to his feet, blinded by pain and shock, his blood-covered hands trying to stanch the red flow. In stark horror, amazed by what she had done, Lucy watched transfixed as the mortally wounded man stumbled about. After two or three steps, Price slid back down to his knees ... and then, finally, fell backward, his head heavily hitting the floor.

Ever so slowly, he turned his face in her direction, his confused eyes beginning to glaze over as the darkness beckoned. With a terrible clarity, Lucy could hear the gurgling noises Jerry Price made as he tried to get his breath, and it filled her heart with an awful fear.

Finally, he managed to get out three, blood choked words: "End ... game ... Lucy."

And then everything was quiet.

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen – Help Me Make It Through The Night

Closing the door behind him, Horatio dropped his car keys, badge and ID onto the table in his foyer, and walked heavily into the living room. Flipping on a dim light, he just stood there, sad and listless, at loose-ends as to what to do next. He was beyond tired. _What a day ... what a terrible day._

It was 9:45 p.m., and he thought about grabbing a beer and sitting on his back porch and trying to unwind as he listened in the dark to the soothing sound of waves crashing upon the shore. Those moments out there listening to the surf never failed to ease his troubled heart, and the house's proximity to the ocean had been one of the things that had attracted him to it when he was looking for a place to live. But, for whatever reason, he felt too apathetic to go outside. Instead, he wearily removed his gun from its holster and the cell phone from his pocket and placed them both on an end table near his favorite chair. He then sighed and collapsed back into the cushions, putting his feet up on the coffee table_. Too damned tired to even take my shoes off, let alone walk into the kitchen and open the 'fridge._

He leaned his head back into the upholstery and closed his eyes for a moment, and suddenly the sight he and Frank saw when they entered Frank's apartment rose up to greet him, and he quickly sat forward, his eyes wide open. _Might want to get that beer after all_, he thought, his mouth set in a grim line.

Horatio hated domestic crimes; they reminded him too much of his own past. If he had his druthers, he'd take a drug dealer, a gang lord, or just about any other of the rich variety of horrors that came his way rather than domestic situations. They always left him feeling blue ... and sometimes wondering, _What's the point? Nothing ever seems to change._

The people you think you should be able to trust, those closest to you, often transform into the deadliest of foes. Why was that? Unbidden, the enraged face of his father appeared before him. He rubbed his eyes and pushed the image back into the securely locked mental compartment in which he forced it to keep residence ... along with a host of other equally unwelcome images from his past. It was a large compartment, filled with violent, sad, heartbreaking memories, and Horatio's conscious thoughts seldom ventured near it if he could avoid doing so. It was only in moments like this ... when he was so tired and emotionally on edge ... that the apparitions from the past tried to stage a visit. Of late, however, it had begun to concern him how frequent were the occasions when the inmates seemed to demand his attention. It not only concerned him ... it frightened him. _Was he losing control? Who was he without his control? Without his ... discipline?_

Again, unwillingly, his thoughts drifted toward his father ... another Caine man who wrestled with control, but seldom won the battle. Daniel Caine was a man both loved and hated by his eldest son. Good times there had been when he was a boy, but for every happy memory were at least two that caused Horatio's gut to clench, and the sepia-tinged memories of his mother begging for restraint when, out of the blue, one of Daniel's black moods overtook him sickened Horatio when forced to recall them. Seeing Lucy Price wearing her husband's blood today brought back only too clearly how risky love could be ... how deadly capricious. And Horatio felt ill as he recalled his own final "visit" with his father ... and his mother.

Control. It was all about control. Not letting the past interfere with what was good in the present. Most times, he was pretty adept at pushing such thoughts back where they belonged. Tonight it was more difficult; he wished it were daylight.

Dragging himself to his feet, he walked desultorily into the kitchen, pulled out a bottle of Stella and, true to his earlier intention, wandered back through the living room and out onto the back porch. Standing near the railing, he took a deep draught of the smooth yet biting brew, and then gazed out into the darkness. The pungent scent of the salty water travelled to him by way of the gentle ocean breeze and, as always, coupled with the age-old rhythm of the crashing waves both soothed him and enabled him to think more clearly.

After another fortifying drink from the bottle, he sat down in the chaise lounge that was always Lauren's favorite spot to sit when she spent time out there with him. Lauren ... he really ought to call her. He had promised to do so, but he was too tired and depressed to be a very good conversationalist. Perhaps in the morning; he'd be better by then. By then, dear old Dad and Jerry Price would have retreated, along with all the other monsters, both old and new, that wanted their time in his head.

Taking yet another drink from the bottle, he found he could no longer block the memory of what he and Frank had seen when they entered Frank's apartment.

xxxxx

_"Price, open the door now," demanded Frank. "Let's talk about this. Don't do something stupid ... Price? Price?"_

_Horatio tried the door and saw that the handle began to turn. Surprised, he looked at Frank. He turned and silently gestured to the two young officers standing behind them, weapons drawn, to stay back and provide coverage for he and Frank. He then looked again at his friend and gave the signal. "It's unlocked. Let's do it."_

_On the count of three, Frank swung open the door and Horatio quickly moved in, his gun leading the way, arcing in all directions, with Frank following immediately behind._

_They both stopped, stunned by the sight that greeted them. _

_Laying in the center of the room on a mocha colored carpet was the body of Jerry Price. The carpet on which he lay was soggy with blood that had turned deep reddish brown as it saturated the rug's fibers. The dead man's face was mottled with a mass of suppurating, angry red blisters, and his throat had an ugly, violent gash. Resting on the carpet several feet from the body was a bloodied knife ... and several feet from that sat a still, silent woman, also on the carpet, unable to take her eyes away from the grotesque scene in front of her. _

_Horatio felt sickness rise up in his throat when he looked at Lucy Price, but made a determined effort to push it back down. The pretty woman was spattered with bright red blood, as if a renegade garden hose had haphazardly sprayed her ... but not with water. Her eyes were vacant; it was immediately apparent to Horatio that the woman was still residing in some isolated area of hell that only she and Price inhabited._

_Frank looked at Horatio briefly, and then slowly approached Lucy. Kneeling down beside her, he said softly, "Lucy? Honey, can you hear me? Look at me, Lucy ... It's okay now. You're safe ... Lucy, please, look at me, honey." He slipped off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. "She's in shock, Horatio - we need medical assistance."_

_Nodding, Horatio walked toward the two young police officers who had been awaiting his instructions. "Tell those outside to stand down. The perpetrator is dead. We'll need a stretcher for Ms. Price - send the medics up."_

_Lucy slowly turned her head, and her eyes met those of Frank. Frank watched as sanity gradually returned to the green eyes he found so compelling. "Frank?"_

_"Yeah, honey. No ... don't look over there; look at me ... at me, Lucy. That's right, honey, keep your eyes on me, okay?"_

_Lucy nodded, but briefly looked down at her hands and the skirt she was wearing. "My clothes ... they're ... awful. So much blood. Why is there so much blood? How can anyone have that much blood? ... So much blood."_

_"Ms. Price," said Horatio quietly, "are you injured in any way? Did Price ..."_

_Before Horatio could finish his sentence, Lucy began to cry softly, her eyes fixed only on Frank. "I did it," she said in a low monotone, her voice absent of feeling. "I killed him, Frank. He was so crazy and I was so frightened. He was going to kill me ... I know he was going to kill me. He was trying to smother me. He had a gun. ... He had a gun, Frank. I took the knife and I swung it at him ... I didn't mean to kill him. I just wanted to hurt him so I could get away. That's all I wanted to do ... just get away ... just get away."_

_"Okay, hush now," soothed Frank. "You did the right thing; you did what you had to do to survive. You're a brave, brave lady. Now, can you stand up? Did he hurt you physically in any way?"_

_She seemed confused, unable at first to comprehend what he was saying. Finally, she whispered, "If you'll help me, I think I can stand."_

_He took her hand and helped her to her feet, and then pulled tighter the jacket surrounding her shoulders as she began to shake. "It's okay, honey ... Don't look over there," he gently admonished as her eyes glanced once more toward the dead man and then quickly away. "It's over now. You're going to be fine ... I'll help you. You're not going through this alone, okay?"_

_Her eyes wide and uncertain, she nodded and held tightly to Frank's hand._

_"Frank," said Horatio gently, "the medics are here with the stretcher." He then watched as they carried Lucy from the building, Frank accompanying her. _

_Placing a call to Calleigh and Tom to join him, Horatio began a cursory examination of the room and the body. Finally, he stopped and waited for his team to arrive. And while he waited, his eyes paused upon an incongruous sight: a red-spattered bouquet of pink and white carnations._

xxxxx

Horatio got up from his seat on the porch and headed back inside; this was going to be a night for something stronger than beer. He walked over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out the bottle of brandy and poured a healthy portion into the snifter. His eyes wandered over to the cell phone as he took a sip. The brandy reminded him, once more, of Lauren ... and suddenly he wanted very much to speak to her. He was tired of communing with ghosts and goblins, and wanted to hear her reassuring voice.

After a few rings, she picked it up. "Horatio, I just finished showering. It's so late - are you just returning from Julia's?"

Guiltily, he remembered that he'd intended to stop by Julia's to make certain she was okay, but with all the things that had occurred that evening, it had slipped his mind. "No ... frankly, I forgot about it. It's been a tough day."

"What happened?" she asked. His tone sounded strange to her.

Carrying the phone back outside, he returned to the chaise lounge, brandy in hand.

"Didn't see the news today, huh?" he asked lightly.

"No, honey, I didn't. I didn't have the radio or television on. Now tell me, what happened? You sound ... funny."

" 'Funny?' " He smiled. "I suppose I do.

"The woman who was staying with Frank ... she killed her husband today."

Shocked, Lauren said softly, "Oh no! How did it happen?"

"He got into the apartment ... she ... stabbed him. Kitchen knife. Strange, isn't it, how the most mundane of items can be deadly. I'm certain Frank never visualized his kitchen implements being utilized as instruments of death. " He laughed shortly. "Who needs a gun? There's always the utensils drawer ... or the iron ... I should probably take an inventory of all the articles in my house I could use in a pinch, and save myself some money on the cost of ammunition."

"Horatio, you've told me her husband was violently abusive toward her; I suppose she did what she had to do ... it sounds as though she was resourceful. You don't blame her, do you?"

"God, no! He was an evil son of a bitch and got what he deserved. It's just ... " Horatio let the sentence trail off, not sure why he was discomfited.

"Just what, honey?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "Hits a little too close to home, I guess... "

Lauren wasn't sure what to make of that remark. Horatio had spoken to her of just enough of his past family life to give her a hazy understanding that it was not a happy one. Every time Horatio said something that gave her a glimpse into his past, she would gently probe a bit, seeking to understand ... to help. But Horatio would almost instantly withdraw, as if he regretted the momentary weakness, and steer their conversation into safer waters. It was just one of the many things that mystified her about this complex man she loved so much. Sensing somehow that she shouldn't disturb the fragile accommodations he made with himself to keep his demons at bay, she never forced disclosures; instead, she listened ... and loved him.

"Hey, you know what?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"I can hear the sound of the ocean in the background ... are you sitting on the porch?"

He smiled. "I am."

"I thought so ... it's where you go when you're down or just want to think. Tell you what, you just sit tight. I'm going to throw on some jeans and a sweat shirt, and I'll be right over."

"No, Lauren," he protested. "It's late. I don't want you to have to leave your place this late at night because I'm in a funk. We'll get together tomorrow night. I ... just needed to hear a ... friendly voice."

This was the second time today that Lauren noticed his melancholy mood, and it worried her. When she'd spoken with him after he'd taken Julia home, he sounded so sad and depressed. Still, she felt she'd cheered him up before their call had concluded. But this thing with Frank's friend seemed to have touched him in a way that she didn't quite grasp. He saw violence in his job all the time; what was different this time? She instinctively knew it had something to do with his past and that it touched him in a way that disturbed him.

Trying for lightness, but not to be deterred, she said, "Forget it, mister. I think you could use more than a friendly voice right now. I'll be there in half an hour."

"I'm not very good company," he warned her.

He heard her laugh softly. "That's my job ... to be 'good company.' I'll hold you close and you can get some sleep and put sad, ugly thoughts away for the evening. Does that sound okay to you?"

It sounded more than okay to Horatio, but still he hesitated. He hated feeling needy. Lately, he'd begun to feel as if life were catching up with him. There was a sense more and more that his life experiences were coming to a head, and it was becoming increasingly harder to compartmentalize them ... and go on with his life. There were times he wanted so badly to share with Lauren the things that weighed upon him; but something always held him back ... it seemed weak. It made him vulnerable in a way he feared, but didn't understand.

His thoughts drifted to Lee-Anne Braxton and the easy advice he'd given her earlier that day about trusting her husband and telling him about her past. Thinking back to his earlier remark to her that her husband should be concerned about saving souls a bit closer to home, he was chagrined at himself. His _own_ soul could use a little saving, yet he kept at arms-distance the very person who might be his savior. It wasn't that he didn't love Lauren; he did. It was just … so complicated. Why couldn't he let down his shields? Perhaps because, for so many years, it was the thing that saved him.

It had been so easy to tell Mrs. Braxton what she should do and to pass judgment on her husband, a man he didn't much like_. Hypocrite!_ he admonished himself, _you're a fine one to judge the motivations of others. What was that old biblical verse? 'Physician, heal thyself.'_ Perhaps he should stop giving out advice and start taking it.

Briefly, he wondered how Mrs. Braxton had fared with her true confession. After wrapping up the initial investigation into the crime scene at Frank's, he'd called Eric to see how things were progressing with Quaid and Pastor Braxton. The DNA swab taken from the Pastor had proved negative when compared to the workup done on Ralston. Both men were let go with instructions not to leave the area. Horatio was not done with either of them.

"Horatio?" asked Lauren, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

Suddenly, regardless of his despondency, Horatio realized he didn't want to be alone for the night. Selfish? Maybe. Needy? Definitely. But he wanted someone who loved him to lie close to him tonight and keep the monsters at bay. Things would be better in the light of day ... but it was the night he had to face right now. And he didn't want to face it alone.

"I'd like you to come ... if you don't mind spending the night with a depressed old man," he said lightly.

"We'll take care of that mood, honey. I bet you haven't even taken the time to eat today, have you?"

Sheepishly, he admitted he hadn't.

"Okay, when I get there we'll make some omelets and a salad. You'll feel better with some food and some company. It'll take the edge off that Black Irish mood of yours, my love. I'll be there soon."

Horatio felt better, knowing he wasn't spending the night alone, imprisoned by old memories and sad images. He just wanted a little peace. He recalled a lyric from an old Kris Kristofferson song ... _Come and lay down by my side til the early morning light, all I'm taking is your time, help me make it through the night._

That's what he needed ... someone who loved him to help him make it through the night.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty - In the Still of the Night

The Art Deco lamp sitting on the mahogany desk glowed warmly, its frosted tulip-shaped glass petals throwing a small pool of amber light into the room's silent darkness. Isolated within the soft yellow spotlight was a tired woman who sat quietly at the desk, her head supported by the delicate hand resting against her forehead. Her other hand held a pen and, with her brow knit in concentration, she was writing something on cream-colored stationery. Behind her, the golden light cast shadows on the room's wall and added mutely to the atmosphere of loneliness and depression.

Sighing, Lee-Anne Braxton raised her eyes from the sheet of paper and lay the pen down on the desk. She glanced at the elegant, fragile gold watch that encircled her wrist. _Ten-thirty_, she thought, _I should have gone home hours ago_.

_Home? Do I still have one? Is Bobby waiting up for me, wondering where I am?_ She looked at her iPhone and noted there were no messages from her husband, and her heart grew heavy as she thought of all that had transpired that afternoon. It would be some time before she was able to forget the hurt, bewildered look that had appeared on his face as she shared with him the story of her past ... or the memory of how he had turned away from her, leaving her standing alone in the Crime Lab's offices, waiting for her brother to take her back to the church.

Maneuvering his shiny black Escalade through the busy late-afternoon traffic, the livid Bradley had called his sister all kinds of a fool when she admitted to him that she had told her husband the story of the baby she'd left behind. Worried that the confession would destroy all they had built, Quaid bitterly reproached her for the lack of discretion and common sense she'd shown.

* * *

_"Are you insane, Lee-Anne, telling Bobby about the child? After all this time? What did you hope to gain by a hearts-and-flowers confession?"_

_"What did I hope to gain? How about a little peace of mind, Bradley?"_

_"Peace of Mind!" he scoffed, briefly taking his eyes from the road to throw her a bitter look. "Peace of mind is an expensive luxury, and one whose price we can't afford. Now that you've 'unburdened' yourself, what do you propose we do?"_

_"The truth was going to come out anyway," she wearily replied. "It was just a matter of time. Do you think I wanted Bobby to find out in court? Or on the 11:00 news? He deserved to hear it from me, Bradley. I owe him that much. We owe him that much. Neither one of us would have left Jacob's Creek without his coattails to cling to."_

_"Speak for yourself," he said, his voice nasty. "This church is as much my creation as it is your husband's. Who set up the financial deals for the TV ministry? Who found the land for this operation, secured its financing, was involved in the everyday decisions required to build the campus? Who arranges for the continued funding of the missions? Who does all the dirty wheeling and dealing to keep this place running while Bobby plays preacher man to the gullible masses? Me, that's who! Do you know what Bobby is? He's just a cover ... he's like the old village witch-doctors that superstitious fools run to in order to feel better about their sad, pathetic lives. He's the pretty picture on the operation, but I'm the brains. I make it all work._

_"And don't underestimate your own importance ... he owes you, Lee-Anne. It's your beauty and magnetism that draw the people in. Before you, Bobby was just some flash-in-the-pan Holy Roller that got 'em crying and yelling in the aisles. He was preaching in tents and passing tin collection plates before he met me ... before he met you. But you – you're the beloved 'Sister Lee-Anne' to the people … when your tearful brown eyes gaze into the TV cameras and you speak to those 'needy souls' in the audience, they lap it up like sweet cream - and the money keeps rolling in. They come to those women's conferences to hear you speak, they buy your books. They hunger for your visions, your oh-so-sincere tears. 'Yea, Sister Lee-Anne and her hotline to the Lord, Hallelujah, Praise Jesus!'" He laughed shortly. "Was there ever an easier way to make money? And you want to throw it all away … and for what? 'A little peace of mind.' Damn it, Lee-Anne – we had a good thing going here!"_

_"Hush, Bradley! It might have just been a con to you, but it's a mission with Bobby. He really wants to help all those people. It's his life's work." She paused for a moment and added softly, "Mine, too."_

_"Well, maybe that's what makes you so convincing ... you've begun to believe the crap you're selling."_

_Before she could protest, he said tiredly, "So, when is Lillian Ralston due to arrive?"_

_"Tomorrow ... she is supposed to identify Savannah's body." Lee-Anne's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Savannah! You foolish, foolish girl! Why couldn't you just be happy with what you had? So many lives ruined because of your dissatisfaction with life!"_

_With hardness in his eyes, Bradley shook his head in disgust and briefly looked at Lee-Anne. "There was nothing to tie us to the murder of that girl. Both Bobby and I passed the DNA test. All you had to do was keep quiet and ride this thing out. You should have kept the child's identity to yourself. You're slipping, Lee-Anne."_

_"I'm tired, Bradley. Tired of lying to Bobby ... to myself. Just sick and tired of all the subterfuge. I want some peace."_

_"Well, I hope this 'peace' lives up to your expectations. In the end, you may find you've paid too high a price for it."_

* * *

Bradley had always been a cynical man. Her daddy might have said a selfish man, leaving the two of them the way he did all those many years ago, going off on his own … but in spite of his ways, Lee-Anne loved him. He was her family, and she had precious few people in her life that fit that category. So, she always ignored his harsh interpretation of Bobby's ministry. Bradley was all about the bottom line; Bobby was about bringing souls into the Kingdom.

Lee-Anne rubbed her eyes. Her head hurt. _Too much thinking ... too many regrets_, she thought wryly. _Things were harder the higher you rose_. Sometimes, she grew a bit sentimental for her youth back in Jacob's Creek, in spite of its poverty. But, deep down, she recognized that wishful thinking for what it truly was - nostalgia, plain and simple. She never wanted to return to that life again.

She looked up as the door to her office opened and saw that Lewis Dupree had quietly entered the room. The attractive young black man carried a tray on which rested a mug of hot tea along with several tea biscuits. "Lewis, what are you doing here at this hour?" she asked with surprise. "You should have gone home hours ago, darlin'. Your momma is going to be wondering what happened to you."

"Don't you be worrying about my momma, Miss Lee-Anne. I already called her. I told her I had a friend who could use some company this evening." Lewis walked over to Lee-Anne and set the tray down on her desk. "And that's the truth, isn't it? You could use some company, I think."

A look of sadness washed across Lee-Anne's pretty face. "That is a fact, Lewis."

"Pastor Bobby shouldn't be letting you stay out here all by yourself so late at night," he said, scolding the absentee pastor as he stirred a spoonful of honey into the hot tea and handed it to Lee-Anne. "Here you go, you drink this - and you eat some of those biscuits, too. Bet you haven't eaten much at all today."

Lee-Anne laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I've eaten today, Lewis; I've eaten plenty of regrets today. I'm near to bursting with all the regrets I've eaten today." Her eyes filmed with tears. "Oh, Lewis, I have done such terrible things! Hurt the people I love, the people closest to me ... made such a mess of my life."

"You stop it!" said Lewis, sitting down, reaching his hand across the desk to grab hers. "Just stop," he began again, more quietly. "I think you're one of the finest people God put on this earth. Aren't I proof of that? Where would I be without you? You took me in when I needed a friend ... gave me a life, a second chance. You did something that nobody else ever did for me."

"Oh, Lewis, my dear ... we knew that all you needed was someone who believed in you. Bobby and I ..."

"No," interrupted the earnest young man, "not Pastor Bobby! You! It was you. Pastor Bobby is a good man, but he sometimes doesn't see the hurting inside of people. Oh, he sees their need for God … but he doesn't see that people often need more than just a sermon. They need to feel other folks believe in them. Like you did me, Miss Lee-Anne. That's the kind of thing that convinces people that God loves them – the love other people show them, not fancy words."

The sound of feline claws clicking softly across the hardwood floor captured their attention, and they watched as the big white cat sauntered into the room, lazily stretched his ample body, and - suddenly - jumped up on top of the desk, adroitly avoiding the hot mug of tea and the biscuits. He meowed twice, and then settled himself down with satisfaction, content to be near the only two humans he seemed willing to abide.

Lewis grinned. "Crackers, you nasty old soul! Even you can't resist Miss Lee-Anne, can you? Not too much in love with Pastor Bobby though, are you, you grumpy old man?" The cat idly regarded Lewis, as if evaluating the merit of his words.

"Well, it certainly is the truth that Crackers has never been too fond of Bobby … or Bradley, either, for that matter. But he does seem to adore you, Lewis," remarked Lee-Anne as she scratched her mercurial pet behind the ears. Crackers purred hypnotically, temporarily submitting to the caress.

Laughing softly, Lewis replied, "I think 'adore' is too strong a term for this evil cat's feelings. Here's the thing: me and Mister Crackers, well, we understand each other. We're two of a kind, just a couple of strays that you took in when we needed a home. And we're grateful ... and we both love you for it. There's nothing we wouldn't do for you." He paused and regarded the woman intently. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Dear Lewis! Darlin', Bobby and I love you, too - you're part of our family."

"Yes, ma'am, I do know that - and I'm grateful to the two of you. I'm beholden to you both."

Lee-Anne looked at her watch; it was close to eleven o'clock - did Bobby realize how late it was? Didn't he care that she wasn't home? Not that she deserved better ... she deserved nothing! She'd ruined everything ... destroyed his dream. How could the church survive when the news finally broke ... when the world learned about Savannah, and about her own involvement with her. _Oh, Savannah_, she thought once again as pain flared in her heart, _why did you come here? Why couldn't you just leave things as they were..._

"Miss Lee-Anne?" Lewis was puzzled by her silence and worried, too. Where was her husband? She ought not to be here all alone this late at night. What was that man thinking?

"Where's the pastor?" he asked. "Why are you still here?"

"Well, Lewis, you might say I'm purging my conscience." Smiling oddly, she gestured toward the pages resting on the desk. "It's my confession."

"Confession?" A look of bewilderment crossed the young man's features. "Whatever would you have to confess to?"

"Oh, Lewis," she said sadly, "you'd be surprised. More than you know…

"Now, Lewis, you really ought to be going home ... it's late, dear. I have a bit more writing to do. You go along now. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Let me call the Pastor, tell him to come and get you - "

"No! No, don't do that ... I'll be going home soon. Let's not bother him. He's had a hard day."

Lewis stood up, undecided. It looked to him like Miss Lee-Anne was the one who had experienced a hard day. But, finally, he nodded and headed toward the door.

Pausing momentarily, he turned back to look at Lee-Anne sitting alone in the amber light and his heart felt a pang. "Pastor Bobby is a good man, Miss Lee-Anne. But sometimes good people can be hard ... they don't rightly understand human frailty. I hate to say it, but I always figured the Pastor for such a man, even though I love him. A man has to realize he, too, is a sinner before he can love other sinners. We're all in the same boat in this big, rough ocean. Seems to me, Pastor Bobby hasn't yet learned that lesson."

Lee-Anne didn't know how to respond to that, and watched silently as Lewis quietly left the room. She then picked up her pen and continued writing. Several minutes went by as she continued to write. Suddenly, with a start, she looked up, feeling that she was being watched. She relaxed when she saw the tall, thin, dark-haired man standing in the doorway, his shoulders slumped in weary resignation.

"Come home, Lee-Anne. It's time you came home."

She smiled sadly, laid her pen down on the paper, and stood up. Turning out the light, she approached her husband, and together they went home.

* * *

Slowly, Lucy Price opened her eyes and groggily surveyed her surroundings. The room in which she lay was mostly dark but some light edged past the wide door that was partly pulled closed. The intrusive brightness was a harsh, industrial yellow. From outside the room, a muted buzz of activity could be heard. Listening intently, she was able to isolate from the noise the sounds of soft rubber soles hitting a tiled floor, little beeps and blips from what sounded like machinery, and the hushed conversation of unseen voices. _Where am I?_ she wondered.

She began to notice an uncomfortable feeling of something pulling on her hand and looked to see what was causing the unpleasant sensation. Puzzled, she stared stupidly at the I.V. tube which traveled from the port inserted into the back of her hand to a bag that hung suspended from a metal hook above her bed. _A hospital? I'm in a hospital?_ What was she doing in a hospital?

Almost immediately, the events of the preceding day washed over her, and her heart began to beat rapidly as she looked around. On the side of her body not held hostage by the I.V. tube, she suddenly caught sight of someone else's hand – a _male_ hand – that rested heavily on the bed near her own. It was very near, intimately so, but not quite touching her. For a moment her body started to spasm in terror as she thought that Jerry was in the room with her, watching her … waiting for her to wake up so that he could hurt her. …_But no ... no, wait … he was dead_. She vividly recalled watching him die ... _no, helping him to die. He was dead! Surely, he was dead!_ Almost afraid of what she was going to see, her eyes continued to stare at the resting hand. Finally, reluctantly, her gaze traveled from the hand up to its arm in its rolled-up shirt sleeve, and - at last - to its owner's face ... immediately her body relaxed and her heartbeat resumed its regular rhythm.

_Frank!_ He was there with her, sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed. In the shadows of the darkened room, she saw that he'd loosened his tie and his head had fallen forward in exhaustion, leaving his chin resting firmly on the front of his collar-bone as a soft snore escaped his lips. She smiled as she studied the sleeping man, snoring quietly, blissfully unaware he was the subject of such tender scrutiny.

Gingerly, she reached the fingers of her free hand toward his and carefully slid them beneath his palm. It comforted her to touch him. He was her rock – someone who reached out to her when she needed a friend, and who had taken her fears about her husband seriously. Continuing to study him, she felt something warm begin to blossom in her heart. He wasn't a particularly handsome man, like her husband ... her _late_ husband, thank God! She'd had enough of that sort of male beauty. No, Frank was not handsome, and had she not gotten to know him, she probably wouldn't have looked his way twice.

She smiled briefly as she recalled her first meeting with him outside the seniors' apartment building where his mother resided. He had made no secret of his interest in her, but he was not coarse or belittling in any way; no, he was awkwardly sweet and gallant toward her, and it had touched something within her since the only treatment she'd ever received from Jerry was commanding and cruel. But then she'd discovered Frank was a cop.

That hit too close to home for Lucy. She had scurried away from the kind man that day, and thought no more about him until their encounter at Harvest Souls on the day he and the Lieutenant entered the church to meet with Pastor Braxton. She remembered how disturbed she had been to see the detective at the time; little did she know that her life was about to be changed by someone she could learn to care for. She liked the man he was – the sort of man who unexpectedly brought her flowers, and then looked away in embarrassed tenderness; the sort of man who willingly sat near her bedside throughout the night so that she wouldn't be alone, even though the danger was past.

He was the first man she'd ever known that she felt unafraid of, accepted by ... even admired by. He thought her smart, resourceful and brave. He kept telling her how courageous she had been as he held her hand during the ambulance ride to the hospital, assuring her she was now safe and no longer alone. "I'm here, Lucy; you can relax. You can count on me," he'd said.

Relax. After all these years, she could finally relax. At last she was free of the crazy man who had haunted both her dreams and waking hours for so many lonely, terrible years! She felt no remorse for his death – nor did she feel fear. She had lived in fear for so long that she now felt like a child let out of school on a well-deserved holiday. No, she felt no remorse, just relief it was over.

Even better, she was no longer alone. _"You can count on me, Lucy."_ Were there ever sweeter words? She now had a friend ... perhaps more than a friend. She'd noticed how the detective looked at her; it hinted at more than just friendship. Looking at him, she thought she might be ready to take some tiny steps in that direction, as well. She wanted to love and be loved by someone who had her welfare at heart. She knew instinctively that he would be patient with her. If anyone understood what she'd been through, it was this man. She liked talking with him and was certain she could share with him anything that was on her mind. It was as if, finally, she'd found a soul mate.

Yes, a new beginning. Slow and easy ... but a beginning, nevertheless.

While considering the new direction her life might take, she had unconsciously pressed his fingers slightly, and Frank slowly awoke to the unexpected touch, and was surprised to see Lucy studying him, a sweet smile playing about her lips.

"Lucy? Are you okay, honey? Are you in any discomfort, or having bad dreams?" he asked, his voice freighted with concern. Rousing himself, he reached his other hand out and engulfed her smaller one in both of his, rubbing a thumb gently over the top of her hand to comfort her.

"I'm fine, Frank. You should go home and get some sleep. What time is it?"

Frank stood up and walked toward the big door and stood where the garish light was trying to sneak inside. He looked at his watch in the light, and then gently pushed the door completely closed and resumed his seat at her bedside. "It's one a.m.," he said quietly, taking her hand in his once again. "And I'm not going anywhere. You go back to sleep ... go on, close your eyes ... I'll be here when you open them in the morning. Go on, honey, go back to sleep."

He watched as Lucy closed her eyes, noting with satisfaction the once more peaceful rhythm of sleep in her soft breathing. He leaned forward and gently kissed the sleeping woman's forehead, and then settled himself comfortably in the chair, hoping to catch a little sleep, himself, before the sun came up.

* * *

Their naked limbs still entwined, the man rested his head in the crook of the woman's neck. Restless in his sleep, he began to murmur periodically, his deep voice disturbed and ragged. He readjusted his body, freeing his legs and turning on his back. He did not wake.

Minutes went by, and again the man moved restlessly, this time turning on his side and throwing a weighted arm across the woman's waist while moving his head closer to her shoulder. "No, Dad," he whispered achingly, "you're losing control again ... you're losing control ..."

Horatio's urgent whispers reached Lauren's sleepy mind, and she stirred, her eyes still closed. "Horatio," she asked softly, still half-sleeping, "did you say something, love?" He didn't answer her, still caught up in his own dreams, and Lauren fell back into slumber as the room again grew silent for some minutes.

"DAD! You're hurting her! Please, Dad ... don't ... Dad, please!" A harsh, dry sob escaped Horatio's throat, and Lauren sat up quickly, her heart racing. In the soft velvety darkness, she could just make out Horatio's face in the moonlight pouring through the gap in the curtains. What she saw caused her heart to painfully constrict.

He was still sleeping, but his brows were drawn tightly together, and a bit of moisture had escaped the outer corners of his eyes. The tender bottom lip was folded sternly over the top one as though he were making a terrible attempt not to cry out. If ever a face gave evidence of a soul in turmoil, it was the dearly loved face before her.

Leaning close, she whispered softly into his ear, "Horatio? Honey?"

He didn't answer, and Lauren realized he was held captive by some old memory or dream that she couldn't understand or enter. She had heard the heart-wrenching plea to his father to stop hurting someone, and it had made her blood run cold. Just what had occurred in Horatio's past that affected him like this? In all the months she'd shared his bed, never had she seen her strong, capable lover experience such soul-destroying fear and despair.

Despair ... yes, that is what she heard in his voice when pleading with his father … despair that his pleas were unavailing. And that horrible cry that had come from him! It frightened Lauren. What was he experiencing in that dark, locked-away memory?

Her eyes spied the digital clock on the nightstand, and she saw that it was three-thirty in the morning. In a few hours, Horatio would rise and begin another day, and put the horrors of the night behind him. How did he go on after such a night? How many nights like this had he endured? Was this something that had gone on his entire life? Worse, did he always endure it alone?

Things had seemed fine when she'd arrived at his house earlier. He had been depressed when they spoke on the phone, but he seemed somewhat better as the evening wore on. She'd even managed to cajole him into eating an omelet, and he relaxed as he drank the wine and listened to her speak of inconsequential things. She had seen right away that he hadn't wanted to speak of weightier matters - he was trying to leave a bad day behind and needed her help to do so. And she had been happy to provide the diversion.

When at last they went to bed, he had seemed so exhausted that she was sure all he'd want to do was fall across the bed and let sleep overtake him. Instead, he came at her with an urgency that had seemed desperate to her, as if by making love to her he could escape whatever phantoms were haunting him. Their love-making had been fast, furious and fulfilling ... but when it was over, he seemed upset with himself, and apologized to her as if he felt he'd used her badly. Her protestations didn't seem to reassure him, but he let the matter stand and said no more about it, instead gathering her body close to his until they both sank into slumber.

She watched as he began again to murmur brokenly, his voice raw with unshed tears ... "love you, Dad ... why do you do these things ... let me put you to bed ... put down the bottle …"

Lauren could take no more. It hurt too much to see him this way. "It's okay, Horatio," she whispered urgently, while gently brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. "Everything is fine ... go back to sleep ... you can sleep because I'm here, and everything is fine."

She knew he didn't really understand what she was saying, but her tone penetrated his nightmares, and slowly his body relaxed and the murmurings ceased. Lauren lay her head down on the pillow next to his, continuing to keep watch, pairing the rhythm of her breathing to his, and willing his heart to match the slow, peaceful beating of her own.

In the morning, things would be better. She instinctively knew that. And, somehow, she also knew he wouldn't remember the things she had said to comfort him ... perhaps not even remember the disturbing dreams he'd endured.

Maybe that is how he coped with the memories that haunted him ... by pushing them back into some dark nether region that he was sometimes forced to visit on particularly difficult nights. If so, she wouldn't force remembrance on him. But if he allowed it, she would always be there when he visited that dark land, and try to guide him back into the daylight.

* * *

It was six a.m. as Lewis opened the door to Lee-Anne's office at Harvest Souls, bearing a little crystal bowl in his hands. "Crackers," he called, looking around the office for the fat white cat. Suddenly, he felt the feline's warm body rubbing against his pant leg and heard a seductive purring. The cat was clever at expressing affection when he wanted something – and right now he wanted his breakfast.

"Well, hello there, you ill-tempered fellow. Did you sleep well? You sure know how to work a room when you're waiting for breakfast." He knelt and placed the bowl of cat food in front of the animal, giving the beast's ears a soft scratch.

Standing up, he walked over to Lee-Anne's desk and glanced at the pages she'd written the night before. He picked them up and began to read them. Several moments passed in silence, and then, finally, he gently placed the pages back on the desk.

What she'd written broke his heart. She'd called it her confession. Well, it was at that.

He could wait no longer.

Sadly, he glanced down at Crackers who had finished his meal and was eyeing him steadily, as if trying to understand the man's strange mood. Lewis reached down and picked up the cat, holding it affectionately in his arms.

"I'm sure going to miss you, Mister Crackers, grouchy old Tom that you are. Always felt that you and me ... well, we understood one another, both being from the wrong side of the tracks, coming from nothing, and somehow turning up in the lap of luxury ... thanks to a certain good lady. You and me, we have lots in common … both kind of touchy and both real loyal, don't you know. Yes, I'm going to miss you something terrible," he said, his tone full of regret.

He bent down and reluctantly returned the cat to the floor. Slowly he stood back up and, taking a deep breath, picked up the phone on Lee-Anne's desk. "Miami Dade Police, please," he said quietly. "I need to speak with Lieutenant Caine."

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-one - Lewis' Story (Part 1)

Horatio Caine looked at his watch, noted the time, and then gazed pensively out his office window. His vivid blue eyes scanned the grounds of the Crime lab and its near-by lake, seeking the young man who'd urgently requested a meeting with him. Finally, in the distance, he spotted the solitary figure sitting on a bench near the small body of water. The slump of the man's shoulders confirmed that he was troubled – but that was no surprise to Horatio. Only a troubled man would have left that urgent message in his voice mail at such an early hour of the morning.

He abruptly turned away from the window and began to fiddle restlessly with the sunglasses in his hands. _Where in God's name was Calleigh?_ He needed that information before he could leave for the appointment, and he felt himself growing impatient. As if reading his mind, Calleigh suddenly appeared in his doorway, giving the door frame a few quick raps before entering his office. "Mornin', Horatio. Here's the information you requested."

"Thank you, ma'am." His face somber, Horatio slowly read the two pages Calleigh handed him. He shook his head grimly and then folded the papers and placed them inside the breast pocket of his jacket. The information in the report confirmed his suspicions; still, he had nursed the small hope that he was mistaken.

Calleigh looked at him sympathetically. "It's going to be a tough meeting, isn't it?"

Horatio sighed and changed the subject. "Calleigh, any word yet on Mrs. Ralston's arrival?"

The green-eyed blond nodded sadly. "She called a few minutes ago from the bus terminal. I told her to sit tight. If you don't mind, Horatio, I'm going to pick her up. I hate to think of her having to take a cab here after that long bus ride, especially knowing what she has to face at the morgue."

A smile briefly touched Horatio's lips as he looked at the lady he always considered his second in command. Beautiful, competent, tough when she needed to be, Calleigh Duquesne was one of his favorite team members. In spite of all the sad and often horrifying things she saw on the job, she still managed to hold onto her humanity. It was one of the things that made her the good cop she was; it was also one of the things that endeared her to her boss. _God knows we see enough ugliness to turn Pollyanna into a cynic,_ he thought, studying her with approval.

"I don't mind, Calleigh. It's a thoughtful thing to do. This will be a hard day for that lady." Horatio's thoughts darkened as he thought of the woman paying a visit to her daughter in the morgue; it was not the last memory one wanted to have of a loved one. Making an effort to clear his thoughts, he sighed again. Time enough for Mrs. Ralston later; there were other things that needed tending first. He raised his brows as he looked at Calleigh and gave her a lopsided smile.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, gesturing toward the window, "I have a meeting with a gentleman who seems to have something weighing heavily on his mind ..."

After Horatio left the office, Calleigh walked over to the window. She watched her boss walk across the grounds toward a bench near the water. She felt badly for him; she knew he'd been saddened by the information contained in the brief report she'd given him. _He likes that young man. This is going to be hard for him._ Well, there was nothing to be done about it. Everyone in their line of work experienced conflicted feelings about suspects from time to time; it was a part of the job.

Leaving the Crime Lab, Horatio glanced approvingly at the sky. It was a pretty day. Too pretty a day, in fact, for what Horatio knew was going to transpire.

Sensing his approach, Lewis Dupree briefly looked away from the sparkling blue water and greeted Horatio. "Good morning, Lieutenant. Thank you for agreeing to meet me out here. It will be easier for me to say what's on my mind. I've always been partial to being near the water ... and I needed to feel the sun on my face. Fine day, isn't it?"

Horatio sat down beside him. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees as he, too, gazed out at the water. "It is that," he said. "We don't get many days of low humidity here. Are you from Miami, Mr. Dupree?"

The young man smiled and shook his head. "No, Lieutenant, I grew up in Louisiana. Creole country, as a matter of fact, so I'm no stranger to humidity. By the way, you can call me 'Lewis.'"

Horatio nodded.

"Yes," continued the young man, "a fine day. Really nice weather."

Lewis smiled as a childhood memory surfaced. "'Fishing pole weather,' my grandpa used to say. On mornings like this, we'd grab our fishing poles and head down to the small, rickety pier on the little lake near our place. We'd sit there for hours, holding our poles out over the water, just waiting ... waiting patiently for that fat old grouper who lived in those waters to swim by. We'd be real quiet, silently encouraging that fat old fish to take a bite out of one of the worms we always tried tempting him with. Never did work. That old grouper, he was a smart one; he'd just pass us by and we'd be forced to settle for one of his lesser brothers or sisters.

"You ever fish, Lieutenant?" he asked, studying Horatio.

"Some. I took my nephew a few times when he was a boy. The truth is I never liked it much; I get antsy out there waiting for something to happen."

"Yes sir," Lewis said, grinning slightly. "I can see that you might. You're a man of action, aren't you? Not much given to dreaming a day away. That's how it is when you fish. You dream. You wait. Maybe something happens. Maybe not." The grin left Lewis's face. "Worse ways to spend a day, though."

Horatio looked at the young man. He was sharply dressed: a dark blue suit, crisp white shirt, a pearl gray silk tie. _Very formal - as if he's going to a funeral. But ... maybe he is, at that,_ thought Horatio.

He was puzzled by the look he saw on Lewis' face. The quiet resignation in the young man's voice was at odds with the expression in his eyes. There was something else there ... something Horatio couldn't quite identify. Defiance? Yes, that was it. There was a look of defiance in those eyes that conflicted with the fatalism also registered there.

"Lewis, what can I do for you?" Horatio asked softly, getting down to the business at hand. He knew what Lewis wanted with him, and they might as well get to it. "Why are we here?"

"Yes sir," Lewis repeated. "A man of action. You're not from around here, are you, Lieutenant?"

Surprised, Horatio replied, "I've lived here for some time, but I grew up in New York."

Lewis nodded, gazing once again at the pretty little lake. "Figured you might be from up North. Growing up in the South, we tend to take our time getting to the point. Could be the heat ... could be genetics. Could be that fishing pole mentality I was talking about. But I won't keep you in suspense, Lieutenant. I'm here because I did a bad thing for a good reason." He paused before continuing.

"I killed that girl, sir," he said finally, not meeting Horatio's eyes.

"I know, Lewis."

Lewis turned his head and stared at Horatio. "You know?"

"I knew as soon as I received your message." Horatio pulled the folded pages from his breast pocket and handed them to Lewis. "Tell me your story, Lewis."

Lewis looked at the pages and, again, the complicated expression appeared on his face: acceptance coupled with defiance. "Found me out, huh? Well, it's all true - everything on these pages. The charges of theft, the drugs, the fights, the time in prison. I was troubled in my early youth."

It was difficult to square the soft-spoken man sitting alongside Horatio with the man who figured in the report Lewis held in his hands. Horatio recalled the first time he saw the attractive young black man - it was the day he and Frank had interviewed Lee-Anne Braxton. Lewis had been filling in that day at the front desk for Lucy Price. Later, in Mrs. Braxton's office, Horatio had watched with amusement as Lewis deftly removed Lee-Anne's cantankerous cat from its spot on the sofa where it was having a go at terrorizing poor Frank. Horatio knew that Lee-Anne had warm feelings for the young man and he suspected that those feelings were reciprocated.

"Lewis, how did you wind up in Miami?"

"Now that's a story, Lieutenant."

"I'm a good listener. Tell me."

"As I said, I grew up in Louisiana ... Pointe Coupee Parish to be precise. It was my grandpa who raised me ... he was a good man ... good Creole blood. A proud, strong old man.

"My mother was a young girl when I was born, and I guess she wasn't ready to be a momma. She liked good times and not very good men - 'til she married my step-daddy. I suppose in his way he was a good man, at least to her ... but he didn't want a young boy around, and so she chose him over me, and the two of them moved to Miami when he got a job offer. She left me back in Louisiana. I loved my grandfather, but I had a terrible anger toward my mother - felt she'd deserted me by taking her husband's part and leaving me behind. I was young, confused ... not very forgiving, you know?"

"What about your father?" asked Horatio.

"He was a bum," Lewis replied flatly. "Soon as he found out my mother was pregnant, he disappeared. Never looked for me, so I never looked for him. Didn't even give me his name ..."

Horatio said nothing, just gazed out over the water, listening, and nodding.

Lewis continued. "Well, Lieutenant, it's the same old story. I began hanging out with the local hoodlums, getting into trouble. Feeling I'd been mistreated by the world. Putting even more gray hair on my poor old grandfather's head. I became a disappointment to him. But I couldn't help myself ... I was filled with anger ... and, truth be told, I was hoping my momma would hear about it, pay attention, feel guilty for leaving me ... I wanted to hurt her, pure and simple.

"Problem is that I ended up hurting my grandpa ... and myself, even more. My mother wasn't paying any mind to my difficulties. Least, not at first. I wrote her letters. For every three or four letters I sent her, I might get one in return. Maybe. I was bitter. But then things changed.

"I was twenty-three, serving the last few months of a two-year sentence in the parish jail, when I got a letter from her. Said she now had a personal relationship with the Lord and that her conscience in regards to me was troubling her. She'd joined a church - Harvest Souls. Then she told me she'd been diagnosed with a kidney ailment and needed medical treatment. The doctors talking about a possible transplant.

"She said that one Sunday at church, she just broke down before all the people there ... stood up and begged the congregation to pray for her, told them how scared she was and how she'd led a wicked, selfish life. Miss Lee-Anne had been up there on the church's big stage with Pastor Bobby and they had been talking about God's grace and salvation toward sinners. Miss Lee-Anne stopped, walked down from that stage and took my momma in her arms and began to pray over her ... then told her she was going to be fine, just fine, maybe need a little medicine, but no transplant was going to be needed ... because Miss Lee-Anne had received a word from God about momma's specific situation."

Lewis laughed quietly to himself as he watched a large white bird fly lazily over the blue water in front of him. "Lieutenant, I don't know if you can imagine what I thought of all that when I read my mother's letter. Seemed to me she'd gone crazy and had been taken in by an equally crazy preacher woman. That is exactly what I thought.

"When my sentence was finished, I headed to Miami - pleaded with my parole officer, explaining my mother was ill and needed me. I don't know what I was expecting to find down here since I'd never been close to her. Not even sure what my hopes were. All I know is I was compelled to go. Maybe I thought life would be better in Miami. Maybe I had a premonition, you know?"

Horatio said nothing, continuing to look out over the water.

"When I got to Miami," Lewis continued, "I learned that my step-daddy had left; guess he didn't want some crazy old religious woman as a wife. And she was old, Lieutenant, prematurely so. The years hadn't been kind to her. Maybe it was due to regrets ... or the kidney disease ... maybe it was years of hard living finally catching up with her. But she wasn't the sassy, self-centered young gal who'd left me with my grandpa.

"Still, there was something new. She seemed at peace, no longer so restless. Had a little sparkle in her eye when she looked at me. When I walked through that door, she was actually happy to see me.

"She begged me to set aside the past, and start going to church with her. You'd think that might be hard for me, wouldn't you? Forgiving this crazy, self-centered woman. A cat's a better momma to its own than she ever was to me. Still, I wanted my mother back. The past didn't seem to matter to me any longer; she was finally paying attention to me.

"Funny thing … we grow up, but we never seem to grow away from wanting ... needing ... a mother's love. Do you know what I'm saying, Lieutenant?"

Finally, Horatio took his eyes from the water and settled them on Lewis. A haunted look had crept into them as he'd listened to Lewis' remarks about a mother's love, and for a few uneasy seconds, Lewis experienced fear and felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise. Something strange had entered the atmosphere, something Lewis didn't quite understand. But almost as soon as he sensed the strangeness, it began to disappear.

Neutrally, Horatio replied, "I do know what you're saying, Lewis. A mother's love is a powerful thing … it can make or break a person, and cause them to do things they never would have imagined themselves capable of doing."

"That is a fact," agreed the young man, still mystified by the lingering sense that something odd had just occurred. Uncomfortably, he continued his story.

"Anyway, I started going to church regularly with her. My mother had forged a bond with Miss Lee-Anne. That word of healing Miss Lee-Anne had experienced brought the two of them together; after that, it was as if Miss Lee-Anne felt personally responsible for her ... for us. So Momma told her that I needed to find some work or else I was going to have to go back to Pointe Coupee. I couldn't stay in Miami unless I could prove to my parole officer I had employment in the area. So Miss Lee-Anne agreed to see me, saying maybe she could find some work for me somewhere around the church complex."

"I suppose you feel you owe her a lot," commented Horatio.

"It's not what you're thinking, Lieutenant. It's more than a debt of gratitude for a job. See, in many ways, Miss Lee-Anne became like a mother or at least a big sister to me. I could talk with her; she seemed to understand me. I love that woman. I'd do anything for her."

Horatio looked at him sharply. "You proved that."

Lewis paused. "I guess I did."

For the first time since Horatio sat down on the bench beside him, Lewis Dupree looked unsettled.

"I guess I did, at that," he repeated. "But here's the thing. When I went to see Miss Lee-Anne, I thought I'd be washing windows, mowing lawns, cleaning toilets or something similar at that church. Instead, she sat me down in her office and just took her time talking with me. She showed an interest in me, something I was not used to experiencing from folks. She already knew a fair piece of my history from Momma, and somehow my background touched a chord with her. I later found out why – I found out about the little girl she had back in Georgia. Maybe she looked at my mother and thought, 'There but for grace go I…' Who knows? All I know is she took a shine to me, and told me I was too smart to be doing custodial work and that she needed some help in the office.

"She knew about my problems with the law, but you know, it didn't seem to make no never-mind with her. She just looked into my eyes, like she was studying me real close and liked what she saw. She said, 'Lewis, you just need a second chance. I can see you're a good man. I'm going to give you that chance.' And she did. But I wasn't a good risk, Lieutenant."

"What happened?"

"My mother's health problems required a lot of medications and they were expensive. Very expensive. She didn't have any real money and at the time, I wasn't making a whole lot either. My mother was a proud woman – she didn't want to ask the church for help. They were her friends and she was afraid they'd look down on her or think badly of her. And it was taking a long time for the social services agencies to process our applications for the money she needed for the prescriptions. I grew pretty desperate. And when I looked at all those rich people walking in and out of that church, I grew pretty bitter that they had so much and I couldn't even afford to get my mother the medicine she needed. And so ... I took some money from the church."

This surprised Horatio; it wasn't in the record Calleigh had given him. "No one discovered this?"

Lewis smiled. "Oh yes, someone discovered it. Miss Lee-Anne."

"No charges were pressed?"

"No sir. One morning I was in Mr. Quaid's office and I saw there was $3,500 in a money pouch on his desk. It wasn't an unusual thing to see a money pouch there; folks in the church were generous, and often sent in money which then had to be deposited in the church's bank account. Usually, Mr. Quaid would have a runner pick up the pouch in the morning and take it to the bank. One morning, the runner didn't come in, and I saw the money just sitting there and I thought, 'What's the harm if I take a few hundred dollars and get that medicine? Who's going to miss it?' As I was going through the pouch and removing the money, Miss Lee-Anne came into the room. That woman knew immediately what I was up to.

"'Lewis,' she said to me, 'what's going on here? You're making a big mistake.' And she was right. God knows, if she'd pressed charges, I'd have gone back to jail. It was a stupid thing to do … especially to folks who'd been kind to me. She looked me in the eye and said 'Lewis, you better tell me what this is all about because I know I didn't make a bad decision when I hired you.' See, she still believed in me, in spite of what her eyes saw when I held that pouch of money in my hands. So I told her about the medicine, about not having enough money. And she immediately wrote a check for the cost of Momma's medicine, and then told me she was going to see about raising my pay to help me out.

"She could have had me run out of town, Lieutenant. But she didn't. It was that and so much more that made me love her. She treated me decently, and she cared about me. She always said, 'Darlin', you have potential - don't screw up your life.' And she said I was part of her family and that any help I needed, I was to come to her … and not do stupid things. She was always so good to me. A better mother than my own momma had been – and that's the truth."

"Okay, Lewis. I get all that," Horatio said heavily. "Now I need you to tell me about Savannah Ralston."

Lewis's face hardened, and the defiance Horatio had previously glimpsed in the young man's expression reasserted itself, and it chilled Horatio to see the transformation take place. Gentle-spoken or not, this was the face of a killer.

"I can tell you this about Savannah Ralston: that girl wasn't any good. No damned good at all."

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two - Lewis' Story (Part Two)

"Savannah Ralston was no damned good," Lewis repeated, focusing his cold brown eyes on Horatio. "I've got no regrets about that white trash girl - well, maybe one. I hate the thought of Miss Lee-Anne thinking badly of me ... not understanding I did it for her."

"Did it for her? That 'white trash girl' was someone she seemed to care about, Lewis," said Horatio softly.

Lewis looked at him defiantly. "Well, maybe Miss Lee-Anne is too forgiving sometimes."

"Like the time she forgave you when she caught you taking money from the church?" Horatio asked, his head slightly tilted. An unhappy thought suddenly occurred to him. "Does Mrs. Braxton know you murdered that girl? Was it at her direction?"

"No," said Lewis emphatically. "She's not that kind. She never said a word about any of this to me."

"There are times when words are unnecessary," Horatio replied, studying Lewis intently.

Lewis shook his head. "No. I told you - she didn't know what I was planning. Hell, I didn't know myself until I got to that girl's motel room. I didn't go there to kill her ... it just happened."

Horatio frowned. "It's been my experience, Lewis, that things seldom 'just happen.' Why don't you tell me what did occur the day Miss Ralston died."

Lewis turned his eyes once more to the sparkling blue water, and softly began to tell Horatio the events of that day ...

* * *

_Bradley Quaid was scowling when he walked into Lee-Anne's office. He quickly spotted Lewis standing behind her desk, placing some notes inside a folder._

_"Lewis," he said gruffly, "where's Lee-Anne? I need to speak with her."_

_Lewis looked up, and his face reflected surprise as he took in Quaid's appearance. _

_He'd never known Lee-Anne's brother to be anything but stylish and neat. The man standing before him, however, looked haggard and tired. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, visible proof that he hadn't been sleeping well. His shirt collar was unbuttoned and the silk tie had been pulled loose. Quaid's shirt sleeves had been haphazardly rolled up to his elbows. Looking closely, Lewis could see the tell-tale smudges of ink on the outside of Quaid's left palm. _

_'Someone has been crunching numbers,' thought Lewis, 'and isn't too happy with the results.' Over the past few weeks, there had been several tense conversations between the Pastor and his brother-in-law about the church's precarious financial outlook. It wasn't a surprise to Lewis to see the tension in Quaid's face - but it was a surprise to see his demeanor so shaken._

_"She's probably with Pastor Bobby, sir, getting ready to leave for the reception this afternoon at Mercy Hospital."_

_"Oh ... I'd forgotten about that. She's speaking a few words, isn't she? Well, the hefty donation we're making to the Angels Pediatric Wing will make for an appreciative audience, no doubt."_

_Lewis was about to agree when Lee-Anne walked into the room. She looked beautiful, he thought, with her gold hair pulled back and dressed in an expensive white suit. Heavy gold bracelets at her wrists caught the light and flashed brightly as her arms restrained a squirming Crackers who fought eagerly for release._

_"You are such an ungrateful boy!" she said affectionately, planting a quick kiss on the feline's bobbing head before releasing him. Crackers half-leapt from her arms and landed heavily on the short bookcase in front of the window. The stained glass panel hanging from a small pedestal atop the bookcase shook when the cat landed nearby, and its metal base inched closer to the furniture's edge due to the animal's exertions. Finally, the fat white cat settled down contentedly, happy to let the late afternoon sunlight warm his body. _

_Watching him, Lewis had to smile. The sunlight poured through the ivory sheers at the window and Crackers stretched his body lazily. He purred blissfully while his front paws, claws extended, rubbed up against the nap of the velvet drapery that was pulled back from the sheers. Crackers gazed idly at the gold cord that held the drapery in place and Lewis could tell what the little criminal was thinking: if he weren't so sleepy, he'd like to bat the gold cord back and forth - one of his favorite pastimes when the humans weren't around. Lewis was forever catching the unrepentant feline in the act._

_"Damn it, Lee-Anne," said Quaid with annoyance, "look what that miserable cat is doing to those draperies! His claws will ruin the damn things; you know how expensive they were."_

_"Oh, Bradley, please. Crackers isn't hurting the draperies." Turning her back on her brother, she looked at Lewis. "Darlin', do you have my notes for the reception?"_

_"Yes, ma'am. I just finished putting them in your folder," he said, handing it to her. _

_"Wonderful," she replied. She turned her attention back to her brother. For the first time since entering the room, she seemed to notice his disheveled appearance. "Bradley? Honey, what's wrong? You look a wreck."_

_Quaid ran a hand wearily through his hair and looked over at Lewis, then back at Lee-Anne. Understanding Quaid's reluctance to speak in front of him, she turned to her assistant. "Lewis, dear, I left my purse at the front desk with Miss Price. Would you get it for me, please?"_

_Lewis understood he was being politely dismissed and left the room in search of the purse. As he walked down the corridor toward the reception area, he watched the receptionist at the front desk keying information into the computer between phone calls. He liked pretty Lucy Price. She was a shy, quiet woman with a tentative, uneasy smile; Lewis thought there was a back story to that smile, but knew he was unlikely to get it. He could tell Miss Price was a lady who didn't trust others easily. _

_Lucy handed the requested purse over to Lewis, and he walked back toward his own office, a small room that connected to Lee-Anne's much larger one. Sitting down at his desk, he could hear the brother and sister arguing as their voices drifted through the slightly opened door that connected the two offices._

_"Things are difficult right now, Lee-Anne. I have the banks breathing down my neck - they're worried the Church has overextended itself. I've spent all morning running these damned figures every which way. If we can't convince the investors we're still a good risk, we'll never get that second mortgage, and that's going to have a drastic impact on the church's ministry."_

_"When have you ever cared about the church's ministry?" Lee-Anne laughed. "Bradley, you can't fool me the way you fool Bobby, darlin'. You don't care about the church's ministry."_

_"I care how it affects me! I care about our bottom line because it impacts me ... and you. Bobby's the one with the dreams, Lee-Anne. Not me. I just want some financial independence. If you and Bobby save a few souls along the way, I've no complaints. But soul-saving is your husband's province. Mine is power and money, and I've never made any bones about that. Not with you, anyway."_

_Lewis heard Lee-Anne sigh. "Oh, Bradley. Why are you so driven? Everything is not always about money. It's also about doing something good. Something to help people. What we do, we do for more than just power and money," she said, and from the other room, Lewis heard the sadness in her voice._

_"More than just power and money? Sometimes I don't understand you. Look, you can view this circus for suckers any way you like; just don't forget that's what it is. Don't you understand that everybody's a user? Even those people in the congregation, in the television and radio audience ... they're all users, hungry for something supernatural to give a lift to their empty lives. They're using you to get a spiritual high, and to have their physical and financial needs met. That hunger is good business for us. Just don't preach to me about the people and doing good for them._

_"And here's something else for you to remember - they'll turn on you in an instant if you ever disappoint them. People don't like their heroes to have feet of clay. So be very careful, Lee-Anne. Which brings to mind another unpleasant matter._

_"Why didn't you tell me Savannah Ralston was here to see you yesterday?"_

_Listening, Lewis's attention sharpened as he recalled the young woman who had come to see Lee-Anne the day before. He didn't know who she was, and Lee-Anne had sent him on an errand soon after she arrived. He hadn't paid much attention at the time, but later, when he'd returned to the church, he passed the woman walking toward a beat-up car sitting in the church's lot. She glanced his way, her eyes knowing and hard. He had intended to ask Lee-Anne about her, but changed his mind when he saw how shaken she was. Her face had been pale and her eyes red, as if she'd been crying, and Lewis had wondered what it was about the Ralston woman that had so upset her._

_An uneasiness settled over him at Quaid's mention of the mysterious woman, and he listened closely for Lee-Anne's response._

_"I didn't think it was important," she said quietly._

_"You didn't think it was important! Really, Lee-Anne! What did the girl want?"_

_Lee-Anne hesitated. "She wanted money. ...It seems Juan Alvarez is poking around Jacob's Creek for a news segment on us. He's piecing my life together, talking to folks about the church and about Bobby and me. He contacted Miss Lillian, but she just sent him on his way. But Savannah ... "_

_Lewis heard the alarm in Quaid's voice. "Did she talk to him?"_

_"Not yet ... but she said she suspected he'd pay a lot of money for a story about my little girl." Sad laughter drifted toward Lewis as he heard Lee-Anne remark, "I guess that's true, too. _

_"Savannah said she was offering me an 'opportunity' to do the right thing ... to pay her and her momma back for all their kindness to me. She wants me to settle a large sum of money on them for their continued silence."_

_"Hillbilly bitch! Does she think we're going to submit to blackmail from the likes of her?" exploded Quaid. "What a stupid girl. Maybe I'll have a little talk with her."_

_"You stay away from her, Bradley," said Lee-Anne, her voice sharp and urgent. "She's confused. You don't know her the way I do. She won't do anything to hurt me."_

_"You don't even know who she is anymore. She's not the little kid who used to follow you around her mother's trailer. She's a grown woman. And you've done enough for these people - they have a nice house, a nice business. You're still sending money to them for the child. When does this stop?"_

_A moment or two of silence passed. "Bradley, how can it ever stop?" Lee-Anne asked softly. "'These people' are like family. Miss Lillian took me in when I needed a home; she's raising my little girl as her own._

_"I guess I deserve this ... I should have told Bobby about Danene from the beginning. I should never have kept it a secret. Then we wouldn't be having this conversation ... and my little girl would be here, at my side."_

_Quaid's derisive laughter rang out in the quiet room. "You'd still be living in a trailer back in that hick town if you hadn't held your tongue. Look, the child is happy. I'm sure Lillian Ralston is raising her just fine. It's Savannah who's the problem. She's a greedy bitch who wants money; you give in this time, and that won't end it. We need a solution ... a permanent solution."_

_"You depress me, Bradley," said Lee-Anne, suddenly tired and sad. "Just stay out of it. I'm sure I can reason with Savannah. Maybe it's only right that we settle more money on the Ralston family."_

_"It won't stop with one payment, Lee-Anne."_

_"Leave it alone. I'll take care of it. I don't want you threatening Savannah. I still care about that girl; I know in her heart she feels the same. She's young, Bradley. I'll straighten it out with her._

_"I've got to go. Bobby's in the car, waiting on me. Now don't you interfere in this - I mean it. It's my problem and I'll handle it."_

_Lewis looked up as Lee-Anne walked through his small office on her way out the door. Startled, she looked at him, but then gave him a sad smile and continued on._

_Sighing, Lewis stood up and walked into Lee-Anne's office. He saw Quaid staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. _

_With a suddenness that startled the assistant, Quaid exclaimed, "Goddammit! Why won't Lee-Anne listen to reason?" Giving in to his anger, he slammed his fists down on the bookcase, causing the sleeping cat to jump in surprise. Feeling threatened, Crackers made a leap toward the frustrated man, claws fully extended and ready to take offensive action. Lewis watched in surprised horror as Quaid raised his hands to protect his eyes from the cat's claws, taking most of the blows on his forearms._

_"GODDAMMIT," he screamed, throwing the hissing cat to the ground and losing his balance in the process. Trying to keep himself from falling, Quaid's bleeding arm knocked into the hanging pane of stained glass, causing it to crash to the hardwood floor and splinter into small pieces. One hand quickly reached out to grasp the edge of the bookcase while the other grabbed at the gold drapery cord in an awkward effort to regain his balance._

_"Lewis, get that damned animal out of here! Look at this mess. Get him out of here before I strangle him!"_

_"Crackers! Come here, Crackers," Lewis said urgently, pulling the hissing cat from beneath the chair he was hiding under. "Come on, boy." _

_"And, Lewis, when you're done with that cat, get in here and clean this mess up. Christ! This place is a zoo!" Quaid left the room angrily and headed to the bathroom in his own office, intent on cleaning up the blood on his arms._

_Lewis removed the frightened cat from Lee-Anne's office. Moments later, he was looking at the mess Crackers and Quaid had made. The expensive draperies were hanging askew on one side, and the drapery cord was yanked from its mooring; shards of stained glass lay all about the floor and bookcase. Sighing, Lewis bent down and, holding his doubled-over handkerchief in his hand, he began to gather up the shards. He then emptied them into the waste basket and shoved the handkerchief back into his pants' pocket. He pulled the damaged cord from its mooring and was about to toss it away when the phone in the office began to buzz. Not thinking, he shoved the cord into his pants' pocket as he walked over to the desk and pressed the phone's intercom button. "Yes, Lucy?"_

_"Lewis, Mrs. Braxton has an unexpected visitor ... Miss Ralston is here. Should I call Mr. Quaid?"_

_"I'll take care of it."_

_Lewis knocked on Quaid's office door and told him about the visitor. The already angry man quickly donned a fresh shirt and went to meet the girl. But when he walked into the reception area, Quaid discovered Savannah Ralston was gone. When Lucy explained that Bradley Quaid would see her, the nervous young woman had left, saying she would return the next day._

* * *

Lewis looked at Horatio. "You know, until I heard Miss Lee-Anne speaking to Mr. Quaid about that little girl, I had no idea she had a child. I always wondered why she and Pastor Bobby had no children ... and all this time, she had a little girl living somewhere else. But it explained a lot of things."

"What things, Lewis?" asked Horatio.

"About a year ago, I was looking in her credenza for some papers she needed and I found a little box pushed all the way to the back, behind some old files and papers. Funny thing ... she always kept that credenza locked, but she trusted me with a key. Guess she knew I'd never hurt her. Or maybe she thought I'd never find that little box. But I did, and I opened it. Inside was a packet of letters and some were pretty old. I knew they were private yet I read them anyway, Lieutenant. They were from Mrs. Ralston and were about a child named Danene ... how she was doing, how her schooling was going, her childhood illnesses, her friends ... that sort of thing. One letter had the picture of a two-year old inside, along with a lock of curly gold hair in a cellophane baggie. So many pictures of that little girl. Pretty little thing. At the time, I wondered why Miss Lee-Anne had those letters and photos. Well, it wasn't hard to figure out who that little girl was after Mr. Quaid's argument with Miss Lee-Anne.

"You know, Lieutenant, Miss Lee-Anne must have loved that child to have held onto those letters and photos ... and that lock of hair. And maybe it explained the sadness I sometimes saw on her face when she held one of those babies at church in her arms.

"It hurt me that this sadness would be held against her by those she considered family. And I determined right there that I would have a talk with Miss Savannah Ralston and ask her why she was doing this ... how she could do his ... to someone who loved her."

"Lewis, did you follow that girl to her motel?" asked Horatio.

"I did, sir. But not with the intention of killing her. I just wanted to speak with her. But trash doesn't listen, Lieutenant. Trash just does what it wants."

* * *

_Lewis sat in his car, his eyes uneasily surveying the Eden Roc's grounds, buildings, and overgrown shrubbery. His expression reflected his distaste for the place. It was run-down and seedy-looking, and apparently deserted but for a skinny, middle-aged white man with a long gray pony tail and a faded tee-shirt. He watched the shabby man carry a couple of six-packs into a room several doors away from the Ralston girl's. _

_Lewis took off his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt. Even though it was twilight, it was still hot. The heat and the tension were starting to get to him and he wondered what he would say to Savannah Ralston when she opened the door. He hoped he could make her see reason. _

_Finally, he got out of the car and approached the girl's door, pausing a moment before knocking. 'What are you waiting for?' he thought. 'It's now or never.' Taking a deep breath, he knocked once, then once again. A few seconds later, the handle began to turn, and the young woman inside opened the door slightly, peering at him from above the chain that secured the door against entry._

_"Who are you?" she asked suspiciously. "What do you want? I've seen you before."_

_"Miss Ralston, my name is Lewis Dupree, and I'm Lee-Anne Braxton's assistant."_

_Recognition flashed across her face, and she released the chain, allowing him to enter. "Did Lee-Anne send you? Come in, then."_

_Lewis followed her inside the gloomy room, grimacing at the lingering scent of stale cigarette smoke. Curtains that must have once been a light beige were now a yellowed brown, and they were completely closed, blocking out the dying daylight. Lewis stood there in the half darkness, eerily aware that the only light in the room was coming from the ghostly images flashing across the screen of the room's small TV. Softly, in the background, he could hear Andy Taylor giving a life lesson to young Opie._

_"So," continued the girl, "Lee-Anne sent you. Does that mean she is going to give me the money? I had a call from that reporter. I don't want to give him anything but I'll do what I have to." She gave him a look that was both eager and sly._

_"Miss Lee-Anne doesn't know I'm here," he admitted. "I was hoping to talk to you ... talk some sense into you. Why do you want to do this? She's been good to you and your momma. Why do you want to hurt the little girl? Have you thought about that?_

_"Miss Lee-Anne will always do right by you. I heard her say to Mr. Quaid how much she loves you and your momma, how beholden she is to you for the love you've shown that little girl. Why do you want to threaten her? It's ungrateful after all she's done for you and your momma. She's a good woman. You should feel shame for doing this."_

_Savannah frowned. "Who are you? What do you know about any of this? You don't know me! You don't know anything about me! You're just some lackey who works for Lee-Anne. I thought you came here because she sent you; I don't need any lectures. If that's what you're delivering, pal, you can get the hell out."_

_Lewis looked at her, his expression hardening. This was the woman Lee-Anne had fond memories of? She was so cold, so tough. He watched the young woman light a cigarette and inhale deeply. She would have been pretty if her features weren't already coarsened by envy and bitterness._

_"What was it you said? 'All that Lee-Anne has done for me? For my momma?'" Savannah laughed harshly. "Hell, what did she do? She bought us a small piece of land, built us a little house, set my momma up so that she could run some half-assed day-care center. Do you really think that's sufficient reward for keeping her secret?_

_"I've watched Lee-Anne and her husband over the years, staging their little salvation show, reaping tears and money. Lee-Anne dresses real nice, doesn't she? Lots of pretty dresses, nice jewelry... butter doesn't melt in her mouth. And while she's selling this 'saintly Sister Lee-Anne' crap to the public, my mother is raising her child. We don't have lots of gold jewelry, pal. We don't have a new car every year and we don't live in a mansion._

_"All we have ... all my momma has ... is her kid. So you tell me, just what has Lee-Anne done for us?"_

_Lewis' eyes narrowed. "Does your momma know you're trying to blackmail Miss Lee-Anne?"_

_Savannah took another deep drag from her cigarette before tossing it into an ash tray; she then sat down on the edge of the motel bed. Tiredly, she ran a hand threw her hair. "My momma is a well-meaning fool. She loves Lee-Anne. She doesn't ask for anything but takes whatever crumbs Lee-Anne throws her way."_

_She looked at Lewis levelly. "But I want more than crumbs. Lee-Anne has taken advantage of us. She could have done more. I aim to see she does do more. She can give me the money or I'll get the money from that reporter. He's real hungry for a good story. The public is very interested in the Braxtons and their big, fancy church. They know there's a crack somewhere in its façade; I just intend to point out its location._

_"Now you tell Lee-Anne this: I'm serious. Dead serious. I want a cashier's check by noon tomorrow or I'll be having lunch with that reporter. Got that, pal?"_

_Lewis nodded. He got it all right. In fact, he understood completely: this girl was trouble. He could feel the anger building fierce and hot within him. Ungrateful girl, hoping to capitalize on someone else's pain! Miss Lee-Anne owed her nothing! Nothing!_

_Savannah rose from the bed and walked toward the door. "Go on now, get out. Tell Lee-Anne she has until noon tomorrow."_

_Just as she went to open the door, Lewis grabbed her hands. "You don't want to do this, Miss Ralston. You take what Miss Lee-Anne gives. You know she'll never let you and your momma and that little girl do without. Don't be trying to profit on that lady's sad past."_

_Savannah's temper ignited. "Who do you think you are? Let go of me! Get out of here. Get out now before I start screaming!"_

_Lewis quickly put his hand over her mouth and pushed her deeper into the bedroom. "Now you listen to me," he whispered urgently, "I'm going to let you go in a minute. And then you're going to pack your clothes and get out of Miami. And you're also going to keep your mouth shut or I will hunt you down and make sure you can't talk. Understand?" Her surprised eyes seemed to agree._

_Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth. Before he could react, Savannah quickly pushed him backward and ran toward the bathroom, trying to close the door between them. Lewis rapidly regained his balance, getting to the door just as she was about to shut it._

_"Get out of here," she said frantically, suddenly aware of her vulnerability. _

_"You're just trash," he said, angrier than he'd ever been. "No sense to even be grateful, have you? You can't be trusted; Miss Lee-Anne will never be safe as long as you're around. I'm sorry, but you brought this on yourself."_

_He pushed her into the bathroom and Savannah stumbled against the tub. With one hand firmly over her mouth, he shoved his other hand down into his pocket where the gold cord still resided. He yanked it out, and along with it came the balled up handkerchief with bits of stained glass still embedded. He winced as the glass bit into his hand, and he quickly shook the handkerchief to the floor and brought the cord up to the young woman's throat._

_She began to thrash about as his intentions became clear, but it was too late. He was too strong for her - and too resolute. He quickly removed his hand from her mouth and began to yank both ends of the cord tightly around her throat. She tried to cry out, but he simply yanked harder, cutting off her oxygen supply. Desperate to stop the pressure at her throat, she brought her hands up, her long manicured nails groping for his throat, seeking to hurt him, seeking to find a way to get some air into her lungs. Raking her nails against his lower neck and collar-bone and to the parts of his chest she could reach, she pushed her body up ... reaching ... straining ... trying ... air, she needed air!_

_Lewis kept the cord taut against her throat, watching the girl's futile struggles with a killer's detachment. Slowly, her hands stopped their useless clawing and drifted down. Her eyes began to lose focus and grow glassy. After a moment or two, she was completely still. Lewis dropped the cord and looked at the dead body before him. She had said she was dead serious ... 'Guess she had it half right,' he thought grimly._

_He dumped the body in the tub and picked up the cord from where it had fallen, putting it in his pocket. He then saw his handkerchief resting on the floor. He grabbed it up and pushed it deeply into that same pocket, not caring that shards of glass had fallen free. He was numb. He looked again at the dead girl._

_He felt nothing. No horror. No remorse. She was trash. Just trash. And now she could never hurt Miss Lee-Anne._

* * *

Horatio sat silently, his eyes focused on the lake, as Lewis finished telling his story. Even now, after years of experience with killers, it always disturbed him how love could twist people's judgment and convince them that their actions, no matter how heinous, were justified. Regardless of Savannah Ralston's failings, she didn't deserve to die in that motel room; that Lewis couldn't see this depressed Horatio.

Finally Lewis broke the silence. "Guess you're gonna take me inside now, aren't you?"

Horatio nodded. "That's right, son. I hope you enjoyed looking at the lake because it's going to be a long time before you get the opportunity to do so again."

Lewis said nothing. He took one last look at the brilliant, sparkling water, and then closed his eyes and tilted his head backward, briefly enjoying the feel of the sun on his face. "Lord, it sure is a fine day," he murmured softly. A bemused smile stole across his face.

"I'm ready," he said a moment later, slowly rising. He looked in the direction of the Crime Lab and saw an older woman being helped out of a car by a pretty blond. He watched as the blond then opened the door in the back of the car and a beautiful little girl with long curly hair emerged. The child placed an arm around the older woman's waist and helped her up the pathway to the entrance of the lab as the blond woman followed closely behind.

Horatio turned his eyes on Lewis. "You know who that is, Lewis? That's Savannah Ralston's mother. She's come for her daughter. Think about that, Lewis ... think about that lady coming for the daughter you killed.

"And here's something else for you to think about. You killed that girl to protect Lee-Anne Braxton. Well, look over there - see all those people standing to the side? They're the press, Lewis. Like sharks in the water smelling blood, they smell a story. And that story is going to come out. So you killed that girl for nothing. You think about that."

Lewis glanced at the reporters near the lab. Again, defiance flared in his eyes. "I've got no regrets, Lieutenant. No regrets at all."

Horatio shook his head. Sighing heavily, he stood up and took Lewis' arm. Together the two men walked toward the Crime Lab, leaving behind both the sparkling water and the beautiful day.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter - Twenty-Three - The Business of Saving Souls

"Mrs. Ralston? I'm Lieutenant Horatio Caine." Horatio approached the sad, tired woman sitting in the quiet waiting area. As he sat down, he took the time to study her. Lillian Ralston was in her mid-fifties yet traces of the pretty, vibrant girl she had once been still lingered about her eyes and lips. Today, however, her cornflower blue eyes were sad and filmed with unshed tears, and the corners of her generous mouth were turned down with grief. Still, Horatio could tell that those eyes and mouth often engaged in laughter and that the gentle expression on her face was evidence of a woman who viewed the world with a warm, giving nature. "Ma'am," he continued, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Lillian nodded. "Lieutenant, how could this have happened? My Savannah … she never hurt anyone. She was a confused girl. Maybe that's my fault. She always expected more of life, but she never seemed able to make anything happen. Things just never seemed to work out for her. She was so young to be so disappointed in life; but she never hurt anyone. Why would someone want to hurt her?"

Horatio swallowed and looked at the floor. He hated these conversations. How can you explain to a grieving mother a killer's motivation for murdering her child? Instead, he gently took her hand and looked deeply into her eyes. Softly, he replied, "Mrs. Ralston, we have the person who did this to Savannah. We have him and he's going to pay. I want you to know that, okay? There will be justice for Savannah."

"Thank you," she said, her voice catching as she wiped away the few tears that escaped her eyes.

Horatio glanced at the little girl sitting patiently at the end of the corridor, quietly reading a book. A faint smile appeared on Lillian's face as she noticed his attention on the child. "That's Danene, my little girl. I didn't want her to hear this conversation, Lieutenant. She knows Savannah was killed – I had to explain to her why we had to make the long bus ride from Georgia. But I want to shield her as much as possible … she doesn't need to have nightmares from things she might overhear."

"She is a very pretty girl."

"Yes, she is." Lillian looked at him directly. "You know, don't you, Lieutenant?"

"Yes ma'am. I do," he replied.

Horatio's thoughts flashed back to the arrival of the Braxtons soon after they had received word that Lewis Dupree had confessed to the murder. While they were unable to see Lewis, they did ask if they could make arrangements for his legal representation. Lee-Anne appeared devastated by the news of her assistant's guilt, and said she felt it was her duty as his friend to ensure he had good legal counsel. The Pastor expressed concern as to what would happen to Lewis. Horatio began to explain to them what Lewis was facing when Lee-Anne suddenly caught sight of Lillian Ralston and the child accompanying her as they walked down the corridor with Calleigh. She abruptly broke off the discussion with Horatio, and he watched the play of emotions across her face as she walked tentatively toward the older woman and the little girl. Lee-Anne paused in front of Lillian, glancing first at the little girl with her, and then back again at Lillian. For a moment, neither woman moved; then Lee-Anne began to silently cry and she and Lillian embraced tightly while the puzzled child looked on.

Lillian wiped her eyes and sighed, returning Horatio's thoughts to the present. "Lee-Anne was the prettiest little girl, Lieutenant, and the sweetest child. When her mother died, her father was unable to take care of her; he was working all the time, trying to keep food on the table. So Lee-Anne spent a lot of time with me, and I grew to love that girl as much as I did my own Savannah. She had no one but me and her daddy. When she became pregnant with Danene, she didn't know which way to turn. A sad situation for everyone. But I've done my best to take care of Danene, and I love her dearly."

"What about Lee-Anne's brother?"

"Bradley? A useless piece of business he was … probably still is. Instead of staying at home and helping his family, he took off. He was a selfish boy; nothing like his sister or his daddy. His mother wasn't that way either. But … no one knows how their children will turn out, no matter how hard a parent tries." She paused. Sadly she said, "Guess I'm proof of that."

"I take it you still have warm feelings for Mrs. Braxton. Does the child know she's her mother?"

"No, not yet. But soon. It's time. The story is about to come out. I saw the reporters outside. They're like hungry dogs salivating after meat. Yes, we need to tell Danene. You know … Lee-Anne and Danene are all I have left, Lieutenant. I want them both to be happy."

Horatio smiled. He liked Lillian. She deserved better than to be here, confronted with the murder of her daughter. He seldom met good people in his line of work; Lillian Ralston was a breath of fresh air, and it lifted his spirits a bit in spite of the grimness of the situation.

"This is my card, Mrs. Ralston. I want you to take it, and if you have any questions or concerns, I want you to call me."

"Yes sir. I appreciate your kindness." She shook Horatio's hand, and then stood up, weariness etched into her face. "Now, I think I better see to Danene."

He watched her for a moment or two, observing the affection between she and the little girl. He didn't envy Lillian Ralston or Lee-Anne Braxton. They had a hard duty between them, telling the child who her mother was ... and why she'd left her baby.

Finally, he stood up and headed for his office. Once he got there, he was surprised to see Frank Tripp gazing out his window, deep in thought.

"Francis! What are you doing here? I thought you'd be at the hospital with Lucy. You should have taken the day off."

Turning from the window at the sound of Horatio's voice, Tripp smiled sheepishly. "Would you?"

Horatio thought for a moment. "Yes. Yes, I would, Frank ... if it were Lauren and she needed me, or my boy. I've had a few lessons in that department about what is important ... and what can wait."

"Well, don't get your boxers all in a knot, Horatio. I've only stopped by for a few minutes and then it's back to the hospital. Lucy will be released later, and I'm taking her back to her place. God knows she can't go back to my apartment. Hell, it's gonna be some time before I can go back there. Once the investigators get finished going over the place and piecing Price's death together - well, I'll need an industrial cleaning crew to go in there and clean up all the blood. Christ," he said, shaking his head, recalling the sight that had confronted he and Horatio when they entered his apartment and found Price laying in a pool of blood.

He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, flexing his shoulders uncomfortably as he did so. "Hmpf ... I slept the whole damned night in a chair beside Lucy's bed, and my neck and shoulders are now punishing me for it." He painfully flexed his shoulders once more and then continued. "They're processing Price's body and I wanted to find out what the State's Attorney might have in mind for Lucy." Tiredly, Frank eased his body down on the nearby sofa, his expression unsettled.

Horatio joined him. "Frank, I'm sure any charges filed against Lucy will be dismissed. It's an obvious case of self-defense. The guy was a rogue cop; he followed her to Miami, broke into her apartment, made threatening calls, used children to get to her, and then pulled a gun on her. His dismissal from his job is also a matter of record and the circumstances that forced it." Horatio studied his friend; he looked exhausted and worried.

"Yes, yes. I know. I'm just ... concerned."

"How is Lucy?" Horatio asked, changing the subject. "It's going to take some time for her to move past this."

"I think she's going to be okay. Yeah, I think she's relieved the sucker is dead. She's been frightened for so many years that I think what she's feeling now is relief that she won't have to look around every dark corner and worry he'll be there. She's shell-shocked, but relieved at the same time. If that makes any sense."

Horatio nodded. He understood that. Years ago, he had experienced something similar. Pushing the memory back, he filled his colleague in on Lewis Dupree's confession.

Frank was genuinely surprised. "I had Mr. Smooth pegged for that," he said, referring to Bradley Quaid. "Hate to say it, but I'm kinda sorry it wasn't that jackass. There's something about him that gets under my skin."

"Yes, well ..." replied Horatio noncommittally, thinking that if it had been Quaid who committed the murder, it would have solved the problem of Julia's relationship with him. As it was, he would have to rely on her good sense to stay away from him. Based on Julia's track record, her good sense wasn't something Horatio put a lot of stock in.

"Frank, regardless of how we feel about Quaid, he's innocent of this crime. The Braxtons are going to pay for Dupree's legal costs. Mrs. Braxton feels responsible - she thinks she should have guessed that Lewis' affection for her might have persuaded him that he should do something drastic to protect her."

"Well, worrying about that is just like throwing good money after bad - it's a losing proposition. Based on what you just told me, Dupree isn't sorry about killing the girl. Don't see how he can claim insanity either. He'll be lucky to stay out of the chair. At the least, he's looking at spending his life in prison." Frank looked at his watch and stood up. "Guess I better head back to the hospital. I don't want to leave Lucy alone for too long just yet."

"Where will you stay while your apartment is unavailable? You can stay with me, if you need a place."

Frank grinned. "Thanks, Horatio, I appreciate that, but the truth is, I've got a better invitation."

"Oh?" Horatio raised his brows questioningly.

His grin widening, Frank replied, "Yep. Lucy wants me to stay with her until my place is livable again." He walked to the door and opened it, looking back at Horatio briefly. "And I wouldn't be too upset if that took awhile."

Horatio found himself grinning as Frank left. Frank infatuated - now that was a sight. Well, he was happy for him.

He sat down at his desk and lost himself in work for awhile. He was surprised to see that an hour had passed when he heard a knock on his door. "Come in," he called, expecting to see one of his team enter.

He was wrong.

Bradley Quaid stepped inside, wearing a cocky grin. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Beautiful day, isn't it?"

Dislike for the man rose up strong in Horatio's throat, and he had to swallow it back. He forced a small, cold smile. "Mr. Quaid ... well ... what rock did you crawl out from beneath?"

Quaid laughed. "Lieutenant, are you always so gracious when you're mistaken about your suspects? Ah, but the bitter disappointment you must feel! I'm sure, in your imagination, you had me strapped to a chair with electric voltage coursing through my body! I find that damned amusing!"

"I find the idea of you strapped to that chair amusing, too," rejoined Horatio with a sour smile. "Maybe next time, hmm?"

The man standing in front of his desk laughed again, this time so hard that tears came to his eyes. "'Next time ... maybe next time' - that's priceless, Caine."

Horatio frowned. "You're awfully chipper for a man whose financial outlook is about to take a dive."

"How do you figure, Lieutenant?" Quaid asked casually.

"I've been told that Harvest Souls is having trouble meeting its obligations. A church scandal can only make it worse."

Quaid smiled. "Well, you'd think so, wouldn't you? But it seems that isn't the case.

"Did you know that my sister has been writing her story? No, I can see that you're surprised by that news. Well, so was I ... until I saw it last night. It's a real tear-jerker, too. She titled it 'My Confession.' And you know what? That's exactly what it is ... a confession. I think she meant it, originally, to be a long letter for her kid to read so that she'd understand why Lee-Anne had to leave her behind. It's damned good, Lieutenant; I had no idea Lee-Anne had such a talent on paper for wringing the old heartstrings. Even I was affected."

"Oh, I doubt that, Mr. Quaid," said Horatio drily.

"Oh you do, do you? Well, I think I'll let that little shot pass, Caine," he said pleasantly. "I'm not going to let you ruin my good mood.

"Did you notice all the reporters out there today? They're hungry for this story. When the news hits about the Ralston murder and Lee-Anne's assistant being the murderer, and about her abandoned daughter having been raised by the dead girl's mother ... well, you'd think it would destroy the church, wouldn't you? Yesterday, I would have thought so, too.

"But that was before I saw Lee-Anne's book. You know, it occurs to me that there is only one thing people love more than heroes, Caine, and that's repentant wrong-doers. They love to see their idols come crashing down from those high pedestals that they put 'em up on, and then they tearfully welcome them back into the fold. How do you think Jimmy Swaggart or Tammy Faye Bakker managed to keep their following? It's all about contrition. And Lee-Anne is nothing if not contrite. When she walks tearfully into church on Sunday morning, hand-in-hand with that gorgeous little girl, and Lillian Ralston beaming approvingly from a front pew ... well, it's just gonna be a cascade of tears from the congregation. And that church is going to be packed with both reporters and people who want to forgive her. It's going to be great - quite the show. You should come. You like circuses?"

He paused momentarily, as if considering the future. "And then there is the money that will come from the book, sure to be a best seller, not to mention the TV interviews ... hell, maybe even a movie on one of those channels for women. Is this a great country or what?" he chortled. "Hey, Caine, tell you what - when Lee-Anne's book comes out, I'll have her send you an autographed copy; you're gonna love it."

"And what of Lewis?" asked Horatio quietly.

"What of him? He made his choices."

"Your compassion is ... what I'd expect."

"Did you ever think of becoming a preacher, Caine? You have just the right amount of self-righteousness to make a successful career of it. I think you missed your calling," replied Quaid.

"Well, I just came by to say hello," he continued, "and to make this observation. I'm like that damned cat of Lee-Anne's - I always land on my feet. So will the church. So will Lee-Anne. Long after you've retired, Caine, Harvest Souls will still be saving souls and conducting business. You know why? Because of me!

"Because of my pragmatism. People like me? We understand human nature, and we know it isn't very pretty. So we shape it for our own use; we manipulate the fears, tears and needs of the masses. It's a good business. A great business, this saving of souls."

Horatio had heard enough. "I'm going to be watching you, Quaid. I'd advise you to keep on that very straight, very narrow path because if you ever, even slightly, step off that path, I will come for you. Make no mistake: I'll be watching ... and I'll come for you."

For the first time since he entered Horatio's office, the arrogant, self-assurance slipped a notch and Quaid looked slightly uneasy. He said nothing and turned to leave.

"Quaid?"

The man turned and looked at Horatio.

"Stay away from Julia. Don't make me say it twice."

Quaid considered, then shrugged his shoulders. "Women come and women go. You want her? You can have her."

He watched Quaid leave the office and a sense of peace and satisfaction settled over him. He had read the man's body language and felt assured that Quaid was through with Julia. Good. One less thing to worry about. No ... one less thing for _Kyle_ to worry about. At least until Julia's next escapade. And there would be one; of that, he was certain. And, again, he would be called to clean it up.

That's just the way it was.

Some things never change.

* * *

_A late afternoon, six weeks later ..._

Horatio, dressed in soft, worn jeans and a loose-fitting white shirt, stood in front of his open refrigerator trying to decide if he wanted a beer or bottled water. He raised his arms above his head and, yawning, languorously stretched his body, then decided on the beer. He ran a hand through his shower-damp hair and walked lazily into the living room. He was feeling good; very good. As he sat down on his sofa, his eyes idly scanned the headlines of the newspaper laying on the coffee table. Another part of his brain registered the muted sound of the shower running in the master bath. He smiled as he listened to Lauren showering, remembering the hours in bed they had just shared.

It had been unexpected, which made it all the more sweet.

She had been "in the field," as Alexx always put it, with PCFM that morning. Even though Lauren had been hired as the agency's Communications Director, it was expected that all of the organization's employees spend a certain number of hours each month with either a doctor or teacher as he or she volunteered their time to the community. This was PCFM's way of ensuring that all of its employees understood the agency's mission and how important their work was in the community.

Lauren found that she loved the experience. It got her out of the office and what she saw in the poor communities gave her new insights to communicate to the big companies who were potential donors to the agency. Her job was to get out the news to those who could help that there were people who needed it, and PCFM was the agency best able to provide it.

When she met Horatio at home for lunch after having been out and about with Alexx all morning, her eyes were shining and her face was alight with enthusiasm and excitement. He had barely gotten two words in as he listened to her happily chatter on about the great work being done in the neighborhood she had visited with Alexx. She had watched Alexx give medical exams, take histories, vaccinate babies, and listen to the concerns of the elderly. It pleased him to see her so happily engaged with her new position; he'd been worried that she might miss her involvement in the political arena - and perhaps regret her decision to stay in Miami. Dressed casually in a jeans skirt and a white tee-shirt, with her long wavy hair pulled back in a single braid, Horatio had found himself thinking how adorable she looked in her excitement and delight with the field visit.

They never did get around to lunch. Her high spirits spilled over into sweet, joyful sex, and he had been surprised when she suddenly came to where he was sitting and sat on his lap, her legs straddling him on either side, while she brought her hands up and draped them behind his neck. She'd leaned into him and began to kiss him happily and passionately. He took his hands and placed them under her rump, lifting her body closer, while she let her tongue dance inside his mouth, previewing for him what she wanted from him in the bedroom.

He couldn't remember how they got there, but he remembered what happened when they did, and his body now comfortably rested in the aftermath of those few, pleasurable hours.

Taking a deep swallow of the cold beer, he again glanced at the newspaper, and his attention was caught by a grainy black and white photo of Lee-Anne Braxton. Sitting up, he picked up the paper and read the brief article. After finishing it, he shook his head. Lee-Anne had been reunited with the daughter she'd given up so many years ago, and she and her husband were more popular than ever. Quaid had been right: everyone loves a repentant sinner. The article mentioned that Lee-Anne had signed an agreement with a publishing house for the book she'd written, and sure enough, a movie was in the works.

Horatio couldn't help but laugh at the follies of human beings. If you didn't laugh, you'd probably cry.

From his bedroom, he heard Lauren call out to him. "Honey, are we going to go out for dinner or make something here? Maybe we can have that lunch we missed earlier? I am FAMISHED!"

"I think I can wrestle something up, sweetheart," he called back.

"Okay. I just want to dry my hair, and then I'll be out."

Horatio stood up, intent on checking out the dinner situation, when his cell phone suddenly buzzed. He looked around for the phone, and spotted it on the breakfast bar. He quickly walked over and picked it up, looking at the number. It wasn't one he recognized.

"Horatio Caine," he answered.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Lauren walked out of the bedroom. "Hey, honey, I'm starving - what are we going to eat?" Abruptly, she stopped speaking and looked around. She didn't see Horatio.

Her eyes suddenly spied a slight movement on the back porch and she walked over and opened the French doors. Horatio was looking out toward the ocean, his hands grasping the porch rail tightly. The warm ocean breeze blew the coppery hair about a face that was grimly set. He didn't seem to hear her approach, and she looked with concern at his bleak profile and noted that his face was drained of color.

Inexplicably frightened, she softly touched his arm. "Horatio?" she asked tentatively. "Horatio? What's happened, honey? Are you sick?"

Horatio said nothing, just swallowed convulsively and shook his head rapidly.

Lauren's alarm increased as she continued to look at him. _Is it his heart?_ she wondered. _Is he having a heart attack? Dear God!_ Slowly, she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and placed it gently against his back, softly caressing his skin, making small circles with her fingertips.

"Horatio, talk to me, honey. You're scaring me. Please, love, what's wrong?" she pleaded.

Horatio swallowed hard again, and his voice, when it came out, was dry and ragged, sounding to him as if coming from a great distance. "The phone ... there was a phone call."

"Yes," said Lauren, encouragingly, continuing the soft, soothing motion of her fingers on his back, "okay. A phone call. Who was the call from, honey?"

Horatio turned and faced her, and she was involuntarily shaken by the haunted look in his eyes. "It's ... Kyle. There ... ah, there was a mission ... his platoon, they're missing ... he's missing ... details ... are sketchy right now. It's been forty-eight hours since they were heard from ...

" ...Lauren, he was supposed to be coming home soon. How can this be? Goddammit, he was supposed to be coming home!"

He turned away from her and hung his head, unable to bear the pain for a moment. Lauren began to feel silent tears slide down her own face for this young man she had yet to meet, and her heart felt as if someone had placed a fist about it and was squeezing hard. Quickly, she wiped the tears away and looked again at Horatio. Not knowing what to say, she laid her head against his back and wrapped her arms tightly about his waist, holding his body close to her. Finally, she managed, "I'm here, honey; you can let go, I have you ... I have you."

The two of them stood silently for several long moments. Horatio tried once again to speak. "They ... they said they will contact me as soon as they know if Kyle is ... "

His voice suddenly broke. " ... as soon as they know something."

Lauren heard the anguish in his voice as he said softly to himself, "Oh, Kyle ... why the Army? Why the damned Army?"

He gently disengaged himself from Lauren's embrace, and refused to meet her eyes. "Lauren, I have to take a walk. I need to move."

"Of course, honey," she said tenderly, her voice soft. She reached up and gently kissed his mouth. "It's going to be okay. Kyle is going to be okay. I know it; I feel it. We just need to be strong."

Still avoiding her eyes, he nodded.

Lauren took a deep breath and repeated, "Okay, then. Let's go take that walk now."

She was about to reach for his hand when he stopped her. "Lauren, I think I'd like to be alone for a little while. I ... need to be by myself. To ... think. Please understand."

Before she could say anything, he briefly kissed her cheek and turned away, quickly walking down the porch stairs and toward the access path leading to the beach.

He made his way near the water's edge, and walked unseeingly along the damp, firmly packed sand, his mind and heart centered on his son. _Where was his boy? Was he okay? Was he hurt? ...was he ... alive?_

Horatio almost tripped over a small sandcastle that some children had built earlier in the day. He watched as the tide warily approached it, playing about its edges, as if unsure it wanted to take the miniature fortress with it when it swept back to sea. Several times the tide flirted with the little castle, and Horatio just watched, strangely fascinated. Finally, nature seemed to make up its mind and resolutely the tide came in, engulfing the castle and washing it out to sea. Nothing was left; it was as if it had never existed.

_Like Kyle's life?_

_My son ... my boy. Not enough time to know him, to love him - is it now all over? Finished before it's barely begun?_ He began walking faster, his feelings a maelstrom of fear, anxiety, anger ... despair.

From her place on the porch, Lauren watched him, her heart troubled. He looked like a lost soul in need of rescue. Her Horatio ... always the rescuer; who would rescue him? She wanted to walk with him, to hold his hand, to kiss away the fears that imprisoned him. What she didn't want was for him to go off alone and lick his wounds in private.

Her heart again constricted as she thought of Horatio's son in that faraway land ... all alone, possibly hurt ... and so far away from his mother, his father. That terrible place. That terrible place!

Unable to see Horatio on the beach any longer, she slowly turned toward the French doors and went inside the house. Her heart was so heavy ... if only he would have let her go with him. Her lonely man, still unable to share the hard times in his life. Sighing, she reached up into the kitchen pantry and removed the coffee and began to measure out the scoops for the coffee maker. It was going to be a difficult night - perhaps the first of many. Thinking about it, she also reached for the brandy and placed it on the table.

A long, difficult night.

She kept thinking of Horatio all alone on the beach. Suddenly a few lines from an old Rod McKuen poem drifted through her thoughts: _In me you see a man alone, held by the habit of being on his own ... In me you see a man alone, behind the wall he's learned to call his home..._

Lauren wanted to cry ... for Horatio ... for Kyle. She wanted to cry for all that had gone before, and for all that might never be.

And yet, she didn't. She needed to be strong ... he needed that. He needed someone to hold on to. This time his was the soul that needed saving.

And so she sat, dry-eyed, and waited for his return.

The End


End file.
